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A 



WOMAN'S Experiences 



IN EUROPE. 



INCLUDING 



ENGLAND, FRANCE, GERMANY, AND ITALY. 



BY 
MRS. E. D. WALLACE, 

AUTHOR OF " STRIFE, A ROMANCE OF GERMANY AND ITALY ; 

LAST QUEEN, A POEM FOR PARLOR AND OFFICE," ETC 




n 



Experience is by Industry achiev'd. — Shakspeare. 



NEW YORK: 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 

549 & 551 BROADWAY. 

1872. 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by 

MRS. E. D. WALLACE, 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 



ITHE UBRARY 
or CONGRESS 

WASHINCT2E 



^"^ 



^ 



y?^ 



J 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I. 

PRELIMINARY. 

PAGB 

Inducements to Travel. Object of a Lone Voyage. Objections 
Answered 13 

CHAPTER n. 

THE VOYAGE. 

Friendly Advice. My own Adviser. Off at Last. A New and 
Valuable Acquaintance. Stormy Sea and Peaceful Company 19 

CHAPTER ni. 

IN PORT. 

Off Falmouth. Frigid Reception from John Bull. Illumination 
of the Cliffs. Entering the Port of Havre. A Gala-Night in 
a French City . . . . . . . . . 29 

CHAPTER IV. 

ALONE IN PARIS. 

Where to find " Distraction." How to " catch" the Language. 
Illustration. How to stop a Train in France. Express from 
Havre to Paris. Alone . . . . . . '34 

v 



VX CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER V. 

CITY OF THE NAPOLEONS. 

PAGE 

A French Welcome. First Lesson in French Laws. Madame 
and Monsieur at Home ...... .42 

CHAPTER VI. 

FIRST VIEWS OF THE CITY. 

Pantomimic Exhibition of Imperial Policy by Juvenile French- 
men. A Cafe, A Russian Wedding at the Greek Church . 49 

CHAPTER Vn. 

EUGENIE AND THE PRINCESS MATHILDE. 

Popularity of the Emj)ress. Study of National Characteristics • 
in a Parisian Salon, American Journalism versus French 
Policy. An Emperor's Visit to an Emperor. Grand Review 
on the Champs de Mars 59 

CHAPTER Vni. 

"PARIS ABOVE AND BELOW GROUND. 

Pantheon — Exterior, Interior, Cupola, and Caves. Through the 
Sewers by Rail and Boat. The Conciergerie . . .73 

CHAPTER IX. 

MR. EDWARD DELAVAN AND NAPOLEON III. 

Problematic Questions of French Policy. A Franco - Italian 
Comedy with a Spanish Heroine. Napoleon's Reception of 
a Temperance Proposition. An American Tavern in Paris . 81 



CONTENTS. Vll 

CHAPTER X. 

MID-LENT AMUSEMENTS IN PARIS. 

PAGE 

Diet. Masquerade at the Grand Opera-House. Schneider on 
the Champs Elysees. Neillson and Hamlet. Theatres and 
Opera Comique. The Fran^ais ; Best Acting, Best Dressing 
in the World. Patti at The Italiens ; Queen of Spain, Prince 
of Wales in Royal Boxes. Death of Rossini. Imperial Con- 
servatory of Music. Lord Lyon's Ball at the Grand Hotel. 
Spring Fetes in Rural Districts 93 

CHAPTER XL 

woman's work in FRANCE. 

A Parisian Millinery and Flower Establishment. Curious Cus- 
toms. Practical Zoology. Government Menageries. Spring 
Salon at the Palais de 1' Industrie. American Artists and 
French Inspectors . . . . . , , .110 

CHAPTER XII. 

FUNERAL CUSTOMS, AND MONUMENTS. 

Pere la Chaise on All-Saints' Day. The Madeleine en Deuil. 
Josephine's Tomb. French Frosts. Resolve to leave Paris . 121 

CHAPTER XIII. 

A SOLITARY JOURNEY. 

King John of Saxony. Night Express through Germany in a 
Snow Storm. On the Prussian Frontiers. Cologne. Dres- 
den at Midnight. A Ludicrous Mistake and its Consequences 128 

CHAPTER XIV. 

DRESDEN. 

Germans Non-progressive in Employments of Women. Smoke 
Concerts. Operas . ", '. '. . , . . 141 



^ 



Vlll CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER XV. 

CHRISTMAS EVE IN A GERMAN CITY. 

PAGE 

Holiday Booths. Midnight Mass at the Court Church. Skating 
in the Grosser Garten. Dresden Art Gallery . . .151 

CHAPTER XVI. 

GREEN VAULTS AND MEISSEN FACTORY. 

Treasures of Saxony. Porcelain Manufacture and Painting. 
How American Purses buy Geraian Titles. Presentation 
Ceremonies at the Dresden Court 162 

CHAPTER XVn. 

A WINTER JOURNEY THROUGH BOHEMIA. 

An Agreeable Surprise at the Station. Prague; its Relics. 
Arrival at Vienna 172 

CHAPTER XVni. 

VIENNA. 

Pedro. Art Galleries. Churches. Canova. Maria Theresa. 
Imperial Women's Hospital and Nursery . . . .180 

CHAPTER XIX. 

IMPERIAL ENTERTAINMENTS. 

Emperor of Austria and Trovatore. Flick and Flock. Tagli- 
oni's Interpretation of the Poetry of Motion. A Sultan's Re- 
ward. Geistinger and the Grand Duchess. Sudden Depar- 
ture from Vienna . . . . . . . . .190 



CONTENTS. IX 

CHAPTER XX. 

AVALANCHE ON THE STYRIAN ALPS. 

PACK 

Ascending the Soemmering. An Avalanche. Wonderful Engi- 
neering over the Alps. The Cloud-King's Palace. Men, 
Women, and Children, with Shovel and Spade, emerge from 
the Avalanche. Alpine Violets. Night on the Mountains. 
Arrival at Gratz 195 

CHAPTER XXI. 

VENICE. 

Arrival at Midnight. Moonlight on the Grand Canal. San 
Marco. A Visit to San Andrea at Night .... 201 

CHAPTER XXn. 

VENICE. 

Architecture. Peculiar Manufactories. Greek Convent. Byron 
at St. Lazare. Dinorah and Venetian Ballet . . . 207 

CHAPTER XXni. 

JOURNEY TO ROME. 

Florence. How we went to Pisa. Rome. St. Peter's. Friar 
Tuck and his Relic 211 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

ROME FROM THE PINCIO. 

Sunday in Rome. The Pincian Gardens. A Trip to Tivoli. 
Falls of the Anio. Somnambulistic Promenade through 
Adrian's Villa. Rapid Return to Rome. Gates Open . . 218 



X 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER XXV. 

THE CATACOMBS. 

PAGB 

Ilome-sick. A Day's Adventures. The Catacombs of St. 
Sebastian. ' Footprints of our Saviour. A Strange Supersti- 
tion , . . . , . . . . . . 232 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

VESUVIUS. 

The Volcano in Active Eruption. Trip to Naples. Vesuvius 
in Death-throes. Explosions. Ascent of the Mountain. Bay 
of Naples at Night 243 

CHAPTER XXVn. 

THE CARNIVAL. 

Picnic to Pompeii. Campania Felix. Descent into Hercula- 
neum. A Lone Female in a Deserted City. Pompeii, the 
Despair of Reporters. Back to Rome. The Carnival . .251 

CHAPTER XXVni. 

AMERICAN ARTISTS IN ROME. 

Miss Cushman's Reception. Abbe Liszt's Hack-Authoi-ship. 
Studio of Mr. Reade. Messrs. Hazeltine's Works. Miss 
Stebbins and the New Fountain for Central Park of New York 259 



' CHAPTER XXIX. 

FROM CIVITA VECCHIA TO LONDON. 

Coasting on the Mediterranean. Marseilles. Paris. A Trip 
to London .......... 269 



CONTENTS. XI 

CHAPTER XXX. 

LONDON CHURCHES. 

FAGB 

Weigh House Chapel. Rev. Thomas Bmney and his Peculiari- 
ties. Newman Hall's Account of American Servantism . 275 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

AN AMUSING COLLISION. 

Dr. Holland; Damiani. Washington, Baltimore, and other 
Journalists. English Notes versus American Notes. Charles 
Dickens at Home . 280 

CHAPTER XXXH. 

WATER IN LONDON. 

Baths ; Sewerage System ; Wash-Houses. The Holborn Union. 
" Les Miserables." A Convict's Satire 288 

CHAPTER XXXHI. 

WINE VAULTS UNDER LONDON DOCKS. 

Entrance to Vaults. « Lamps " on Duty. Old Port. Tasting 
Nos. 000 and 000 298 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

LONDON. 

English Ideas of American Journalism. Modified after an Im- 
partial Reading 3^2 

ADIEU 315 



i 



A 

WOMAN'S EXPERIENCES 

IN EUROPE. 



CHAPTER I. 

PRELIMINARY. 



SEVERAL years since, a pleasant duty devolved 
on the recorder of these Experiences. Bayard 
Taylor presented eight volumes of his books of 
travel to the American public ; and while the critics 
of daily journals were thrown into a state of despair, 
the monthly and quarterly reviewers roamed and 
ruminated in the wide pastures spread out in thirty- 
five hundred pages, at their own free — if sometimes 
fastidious — will. I was just recovering from a se- 
vere illness, and a kind friend sent me the complete 
set of " Prose Writings," in green and gold. When 
they were all laid on my bed, I felt that I was liter- 
ally lying down in green pastures. I was not sup- 
posed to have the strength to more than amuse 

13 



14 A woman's experiences in EUROPE, 

myself for an hour or two with reading ; but stimu- 
lated to the undertaking by an indomitable passion for 
pictures of travel, and finding them glowing with the 
hues afforded by a rich imagination, there was no 
limit to my enjoyment till I arrived at the last page 
of the last volume. 

Little did I suspect that for each page I would 
one day measure miles of my own wanderings in the 
Old World alone ! 

Without any idea of doing justice to Mr. Taylor's 
works, I wrote a congestion of my views of them for 
the Presbyterian Quarterly Review; and to show how 
I was affected, and would myself wish to affect my 
readers, I will quote a paragraph from the Review. 

" While we admire the correct pictures of places 
familiar to us, we are also impressed with the truth 
of the author's descriptions of the most remote, and 
hitherto unexplored, regions, and our mind goes out 
after the great man in his wanderings, inspired by 
his own love of adventure, till we can hardly realize 
we are only fireside travellers enjoying at our ease the 
fruits of his industry and genius," 

Am I 2i^diXQ.^?AXi^ 2. fireside U'aveller — perhaps an 
invalid ? Then this bread cast upon the waters will 
come back sweeter to me, having afforded food for' 
pleasant reflection to any such prisoner, and having 
relieved the tedium of a convalescent room. To 
such readers, I repeat the assurance, that while my 
" travelled brain " is weaving pictures for their vision, 
my "untravelled heart" can respond to every emotion 



PRELIMINARY. I5 

awakened or calmed by the suggestions offered from 
my own experiences. 

The first question my readers will naturally ask is 
one that I have heard repeated till I am quite used 
to it. What object could induce a woman to travel 
so far alone ? Many of my readers are already fa- 
miliar with my favorite motto : " War not with neces- 
sity." It was not to gratify the desire for travel, that 
was with Ida Pfeiffer an inborn propensity. It was 
not even a matter of choice with me. A crisis in my 
life had come when I must face the world alone and 
resolve bravely to meet all exigencies of fate or for- 
tune, or succumb to a crushing sorrow, and, with 
paralyzed energies, prove a sorry burden to those 
who had a right to claim my interest in their well- 
being. God gave me strength to resolve wisely. I 
left every friend who knew my sorrow, and, in the 
Old World, away from all reminding sympathy, I 
conquered myself, and returned home with materials 
for zuork — better than any medicine ; and for the 
profit and amusement I afford to others I am a thou- 
sand-fold repaid in the pleasing task of communi- 
cating what I saw and felt in my wanderings. 

My first task, after I had determined to enter upon 
new scenes, and so distract brooding thoughts, that 
threatened to enslave my mind, Avas to " screw my 
courage to the sticking-place." I had heard dismal 
reports of insults and hardships to which females 
travelling in Europe were liable. Many of my friends, 
in remonstrating with m.e on my ** singular resolu- 



t 



l6 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

tlon," used those very arguments to intimidate me, 
till finally I went for advice and encouragement to 
the wife of a Moravian missionary and a former 
Swiss consul. I was assured by them that the facili- 
ties for travelling in Europe were equal to our own, 
and that, as a female alone, I would have special pro- 
tection, as all railroads and post-roads were under the 
immediate control of the governments, and provision ' 
was made for the comfort of women superior to any 
arrangements for American travel. My experience 
justified their assertion, as the reader will discover in 
the perusal of adventures in Paris, London, Venice, 
and Rome. 

I returned to America with a settled conviction 

that a true woman can maintain her right to the title, 

without the necessity for any special effort, wherever 

^% there are beings with human sympathies, or capable 

of even ordinary discernment. 

The Father of " Autobiagraphers at Home and 
Abroad " has declared, that authors and their public 
are separated by an immense gulf, of which, happily, 
neither of them have any conception. Consequently 
all prefaces are useless; for the more pains a writer 
takes to make his views clear, the more occasion he 
gives for embarrassment. Besides, an author, he de- 
clares, may preface as elaborately as he will, the pub- 
lic will always go on making precisely those demands 
which he has endeavored to avoid. 

It is a woman's prerogative to differ from the op- 
posite sex, on all points of oratorical limit. Bache- 



PRELIMINARY. 1/ 

lors, from St. Paul to James Buchanan, have ever 
been marked as ehglble targets for their elocutionary 
aims. Our friend Goethe deserves some consideration; 
for it was no fault of his that a matrimonial noose 
was not voluntarily assumed by him. All angels, 
however, seemed to desert him ; and destiny assigned 
him to an eternal consciousness of a demoniacal in- 
fluence, sometimes appearing in the form of a jealous 
pimple-faced sister, at others in the forbidding visage 
of an enraged father. Gretchen, Lucinda, Emilia, 
Frederica, Olivia, Charlotte, and Lilli, a powerful 
heptarchy, enjoyed in turn a tyrannical reign in that 
stout heart, that could face a world of critics without 
flinching — " but not an angry father ! " 

By this mazy course of argument and strong illus- 
tration, I wish to convey to my readers the idea, that, 
if we are to be compagnons de voyage, at the fireside, 
or in the veranda, we intend to disregard all plans 
of travel, and set out on an independent female expe- 
dition. With this hint I would excuse and conclude 
my *' preliminary." But I have a duty to perform. 

On the eve of my departure from New York, a 
letter was handed me from Mr. Gibson Peacock, 
editor of the Evening Bulletin, of Philadelphia. He 
wrote : " If you see anything in the Old World # 
you would like to describe for us, we will gladly pay 
for your letters, and so add to your income. Be- 
sides — " but what followed related to the dead, and 
is too sacred for repetition. To that kind offer I 
attribute my ability to shake off the veil of gloom 



l8 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

that obscured my vision, and look for others, at the 
scenes I would have ignored for myself. I trust you 
have such, friends, dear reader; and should their sensi- 
tive nature forbid a bold dedication of the fruits of 
your labors, I will cheerfully read your "preliminary," 
expressing the full measure of your grateful remem- 
brance. 

The Author. 



CHAPTER II. 

THE VOYAGE. 

NE would imagine, that, after the opposition 
of friends had been silenced, there could be 
nothing more to contend with ; and I would have 
only to secure my passage in a first-class steamer, 
and sail at the appointed hour. Alas! there is a dis- 
position on the part of friends to substitute advice 
for opposition, when they are convinced that our ac- 
tions proceed from firm and immovable principles, 
and that our conduct has the sanction of our own 
approbation. I have before me a picture-book, pur- 
chased at Cologne, consisting of one gutta-percha face 
for ten figures of that proverbial old miller who set 
out on a journey with his son, and the most famous 
quadruped after Balaam's. 

With a gutta-percha resolution to please my friends 
in the trifling matter of selecting a steamer, and 
fixing a date for sailing, I agreed with a large 
majority of female friends, that the French line was 
decidedly the best, and as the Ville de Paris had just 
sailed, and her next date would be too late for me, 
I must go in the Nameless. She was advertised for 
the very best time for me. I would just escape the 

19 



20 A woman's experiences IN EUROPE. 

equinoctial, and arrive in Paris before the close of the 
Fall Exposition. 

Man proposes, but Destiny is not always agreed. 
For the first time in her history, the Nameless was a 
whole week behind the hour when she was due at 
New York. I had gone to engage passage when, 
this information was furnished me, and a certain 
superstitious dread came over me, shaping itself after 
the Platonic oracle, "When thou settest out on a 
journey, turn not back, lest the Furies turn with 
thee ! " Observing my profound gravity, a companion! 
suggested, " You might, perhaps, like another line as 
well ; suppose we take a look at the steamers pre- 
paring to sail." I assented, and the permits secured, 
my male relative and myself explored the piers on 
the North River to our hearts' content. It rdally 
seemed providential that my relative encountered an 
old acquaintance, who proved to be the captain of a 
fine steamer that would sail on the very date I had 
chosen. An introduction, a lively chat, and the most 
encouraging dialogue between the captain and my 
relative, resulted in my immediate decision to sail in 
that steamer and no other. As the day was pretty 
far advanced, we agreed to defer the purchasing of a 
passage-ticket till the following Monday. I had 
mentally disposed of every article of my portable 
luggage in the spacious state-room we had selected, 
and was quite cheerful in the thought that after all I 
would not be friendless on the voyage, when, to my 
dismay, a morning journal announced the determina- 



^ror 



THE VOYAGE. 21 



11 on the part of the Company, to take my 

steamer, captain, and all, off the line, and run it along 
the coast ! This time my friends looked grave, and 
gave the most gloomy interpretations of such unusual 
prognostic signs. Finding me still undaunted, how- 
ever, they resolved that " the third time would be 
sure to succeed," and quoted Bruce and Columbus, 
and became enthusiastic over our united determina- 
tion to be above all superstitious weakness. Besides, 
a letter from a friend had only a few days before 
mentioned the anticipated departure of two friends 
for Prussia, by the German line, and urged me to join 
them. A letter of introduction enclosed would at 
once place me on agreeable terms with them. My 
friends had before scouted the idea of my taking a 
German steamer for France, but now they suddenly 
concluded that " it was actually an agreeable change 
to leave the steamer one sails in, and take the French 
steamer two days out from Havre. I couldn't do 
better than call on these friends of my friend." 

I devoted the very next day to that object, and 
was charmed with the result. A mutual pleasure in 
the interview led to an invitation on the part of these 
generous acquaintances for a three months' visit to 
their home in the Fatherland, and an agreement to 
stop in Paris v/ith me till after the Fall Exposition, so 
I could accompany them to Prussia. 

Three weeks from that date would be their latest 
time for sailing, my new friends declared ; and now 
the farev/ell tea-drinkings were vigorously kept up 



22 A WOMAN S EXPERIENCES IN EUROPE. 

till within two days of the time appointed for sailing, 
when, lo ! the lady fell ill, and her husband, though 
in frantic haste to depart, was forced to see a hundred 
air-castles fade in the dim distance ! 

" I am a veritable Jonah ! " I exclaimed, *' and who 
undertakes to sail with me must do it at his peril ! " 
No reply from my exhausted friends ; so I resolved, ' 
like the miller before mentioned, that, blame me or 
praise me, henceforward I would be my own adviser. 
And, as the story-book says, / did so, and did well. 

One day I found myself on a steamer gliding out 
of New York harbor, straining my eyes to catch a 
last glimpse of the group of kind friends waving their 
" farewell " in a crowd of similar groups interested in 
the departure of our ship's company. There were 
too many tears falling for any one to feel ashamed of 
inability to control them ; and I think it must be this 
simultaneous expression of emotion awakened by the 
electrifying cry, *' All hands ashore ! " and the last 
grasp of the friendly hand when that order is given, 
that so closely unites a little world of travellers 
" going down in ships to the great deep " together. 

The Nameless was favored with a delightful set of 
passengers. There were families intending to reside 
in Paris during the winter, giving their children the 
advantages of a French course of instruction ; ar- 
tists, going to seek models and inspiration among 
the works of the old masters ; invalids bound for the 
south of France, where the climate is of a more even 
temperature than in the southern American States ; 



THE VOYAGE. 23 

some bold travellers, intending to brave the Alpine 
storms and Russian winter; and some sad hearts 
leaving all gloomy associations for new scenes and 
cheerful occupations. 

In twenty-four hours we were like one family. 
Our captain, gentlemanly and untiring in his atten- 
tions to all, was father, brother, physician, and chap- 
lain. When a storm rocked the steamer like a row- 
boat on the rapids of Niagara, aiid old and young, 
male and female, paid the penalty of trespassers in 
the dominions of Neptune, it was marvellous to see 
the expedients resorted to by the captain for each 
peculiar case. None but the aged and those who 
were previously ill were allowed to remain in their 
state-rooms. The sailors were ordered to make bean 
bags for the young people to toss, rings of tarred 
rope for the gentlemen to substitute for quoits, and 
camp-stools, reclining-chairs, and every comfort that 
could aid in making the sea-sick company willing 
even to tolerate life were kindly placed at their dis- 
posal. Grapes, lemons, sour-balls, mint-drops, gin- 
ger-nuts, and apples were the favorite articles of diet 
until the fury of the storm-god abated. Then the 
transformation scene was extremely ludicrous. Five 
meals per day failed to satisfy the ravenous appetites, 
and the promenade deck was crowded from daylight 
till near midnight with as lively a company as ever 
graced an ocean-steamer. There was nothing to mar 
the pleasure of even the most fastidious. The sailors 
were orderly and respectful ; the captain and officers 



24 A WOMAN S EXPERIENCES IN EUROPE. 

patient and gentlemanly ; the gentlemen passengers, 
without exception, attentive, polite, and temperate ; * 
and the ladies, possessing a full share of personal 
attractions, displayed none of the vanity and spirit 
of rivalry so often exhibited on long voyages. The I 
patriarchal head of our company was Mr. Edward C. 1 
Delavan, a leader in the great temperance reform 
both in America and Europe. His influence was 
felt and acknowledged by all. At the age of seventy- 
five he was crossing the fifth time, in perfect health ; 
and to his clear intellect we were indebted for most 
delightful reminiscences of his visit to Paris at the 
time of the restoration of the Bourbons. A copy of 
his new book, the " Consideration of the Temperance 
Argument and History," was presented to me on the 
very last day of our voyage, with a modest but ear- 
nest speech ; and on its pages I found suggestions 
throwing light on many points that the policy of the 
French Government would conceal. 

The " Consideration " explained why there were no 
disorderly scenes from drunkenness in the streets of 
Paris, but hosts of inebriates in the cafes and restau- 
rants. 

To Mr. Delavan and his agreeable family I was 
afterwards indebted for many pleasant hours in Paris. 
I shall have occasion to enlarge upon some of them 
in a future chapter. 

One evening I ascended the companion-way to the 
promenade-deck, and read on the saloon calendar 
the notice — " Tzvelve hundred miles from New York.'* 



THE VOYAGE. 2$ 

"And twelve hundred more to Havre," I said to my- 
self. "We seem but a little company now, com- 
pletely isolated from the whole race of mankind, with 
but a few planks between us and the unfathomable 
deeps of mid-ocean ! " 

And I had left everything dear to me to meet the 
untried vicissitudes of a strange world, and encounter 
its more strange people ! I rarely had time for a 
prolonged indulgence in such reflections, for a kind 
sympathy, that I can never forget, induced the entire 
company to aid in making my lonely voyage a cheer- 
ful one, and simple gratitude alone would have im- 
pelled me to respond to such unselfish consideration. 

On this particular evening I thought I would grant 
myself special indulgence, and I selected a corner 
for my reveries near the guards in the stern of the 
ship. Some of the crew were engaged not far from 
me in examining certain large canvas floaters that 
will hold twenty or thirty people in emergencies, 
such as a loss of the life-boats in a storm, and the 
like. There was an unusual earnestness in the move- 
ments of the sailors that I at once interpreted as a 
foreboding of a heavy storm, heavier than the ordi- 
nary squalls that are met off the Banks, and through 
which we had passed with no other inconvenience 
than a general sea-sickness. The captain's clerk, 
coming to give an order to one of the crew, remarked 
to me : 

"You look serious. Are you doubtful about ever 
seeing Havre?" 

2 



k 



ve I 



26 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. '| 

" No ; I wish I had some fear," I repHed. 

"How so?" 

" My greatest trouble is that I am possessed of 
spirit that makes the bottom of the ocean as attractive 
as the harbor." 

" Do you remember what the captain threatened 
if you hghted your pocket-lantern at midnight ? " 

" Yes ; he said he would put me in irons," I re- 
plied, laughing at the recollection. 

" If you repeat your unreasonable remark to hhn^ 
he will think he has more occasion for his threat," 
was the half serious, half playful warning with which 
the clerk touched his cap and walked away. 

Before the sailors had completed their inspection 
of the floater, the steamer was heaving, sighing, and 
shuddering like a human creature, and gave that in- 
explicable evidence a ship does give when she is 
about to face a coming storm. 

The sun, before dazzling with its powerful brilliancy, 
was suddenly shut out from us as by a heavy curtain, 
and the ship was enveloped in a pall-like fog. A 
misty rain began to fall, and the passengers were 
ordered into the main saloon. By the aid of the fog 
I concealed myself from observation in my sheltered 
corner, resolved to see as much as possible of the 
storm. The captain walked with rapid strides on the 
bridge, watchful and silent, receiving and giving 
messages quickly and in low tones. Every man was 
at his post, and every part of the deck in perfect 
order. The sails were all taken down, signal whistles 



THE VOYAGE. 2/ 

shrieking, and minute-guns booming with a dull sad- 
dening sound, 'mid the incessant roar arid moaning of 
the seas. Soon the blackness of night succeeded the 
pale gloom of the evening mist, and the ship rolled, 
groaned, shivered and started like one in the ago- 
nies of delirium. But still I clung to the guards in 
my hiding-place. I was spellbound. I could have 
thrown myself into the foaming ocean with the en- 
thusiasm of a fire-worshipper. But as if to calm my 
overwrought feelings, those beautiful lines of Adelaide 
Procter, in her " Hymn to the Sea," were whispered 
by a spirit-voice close beside me : 

" Do tempests swing thee, or deep choral nights 
Chant unto murmurous slumber ? yield me still 
The calm of hushed abysses! — human ill 

Patience transfigures on her visioned heights. 

Thou dost not rive the blood-drenched deck apart, 

Nor whelm the slaver's freight of woe, but soft 
On patient swelling breast upborne, 
Waftest the dismal burden on. 
As trusting in the love that waits aloft. 

And the slow germ of good in man's unquiet heart. *^ 

A hand gently laid on my shoulder drew me away 
! from my corner, and I recognized the good stewardess 
who had taken motherly care of me, never once 
I losing her patience at my " sea-sick whims." 

The deck, ropes, benches, and chairs, were drenched 
' with the mist that fell like rain ; and with the ship 
I riding on the crest of a wave, then plunging into the 
I trough of the sea, rolling on its side till one water- 
I wheel was completely submerged and the other 



28 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. j 

raised clear out of the water, it made the walk to the 
companion-way decidedly dubious, and I found my- 
self seated or reclining suddenly and unintentionally 
several times before it was accomplished. 

At the entrance to the companion-way I paused to 
enjoy the strange contrast of the storm without and 
the cheery light and sounds that rose from the main 
saloon. Hark ! a hymn, familiar to every American, 
but imagine it sung by sweet voices, at first trembling 
and uncertain, but strengthening and with more con-! 
fidence in every note, with the ocean grandly rolling 
its muffled thunderings for an accompaniment : 

" Jesus, lover of my soul ! 

Let me to thy bosom fly, 
While the billows round me roll, 

While the tempest still is high ! 
Hide me, O my Saviour, hide ! 

Till the storm of life is past ; 
Safe into the haven guide, 

Oh, receive my soul at last! " 

Joining the company in the saloon, I found them 
calm and evidently comforted by the sweet words of 
the petition they had chanted. During a lull in the 
storm the captain appeared in the saloon, and ex- 
pressed his appreciation of the wisdom of his com- 
pany, and after his reassuring " good-night," we re- 
tired to our state-rooms to sleep, knowing there was 
danger, but trusting that the Hand of the Invisible 
held the helm. 



CHAPTER III. 

IN PORT. 

E had been out twelve days, meeting only two 
steamers and a few sails homeward-bound, 
when we heard the cry of " Land ! " Never shall I 
forget the sensation. Our entire company, first cabin, 
second class, officers and men, forgetting distinction 
in the general joy, rushed forward and hailed the 
white cliffs of England with waving handkerchiefs 
and caps, and shouts of joy ! 

We were off Falmouth. The anchor was dropped, 
and a cannon roared lustily for a pilot to take us up 
the channel, and for a tug to carry off the English 
passengers. No response from the British Lion — 
John Bull was at tea, and " 'ad no hidea hanother 
'alf hour or so would make hany material difference to 
Brother Jonathan ! " But our impatience knew no 
bounds, as night fell around us, obscuring the sight 
of land on which our eyes had been feasting, and 
making the strange stillness of our steamer, with all 
the noisy machinery at rest, painfully oppressive. 

But new signals were employed. Rockets were 

sent up into the clear air, and their stars descending 

in tears of fire were received into the gleaming 

29 



I 



30 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

waves. Blue-lights and Roman candles made the 
white cliffs and the myriad sails darting across the 
bay appear and disappear from our sight as if by 
magic ! 

We were so rapt in admiration of the scene, that| 
the pilot came aboard almost before we were aware 
of his approach. Falmouth passengers and baggage 
were safely transferred to the tug — an English tug is 
about as graceful as our mud-scows — and we were 
soon steaming for Havre. 

Glad of an opportunity to rest after our excitement, 
the whole company retired immediately after supper, 
and fell asleep with the delightful assurance that our 
next night's rest would be at Havre. 

" France, I salute thee ! " was my involuntary ex- 
clamation on awaking the next morning, and be- 
holding through the open port a long stretch of 
glistening white beach, with a blue coast-line beyond. 
The day was passed in preparations for our landing, 
paying bills for " extras," and feeing the attendants. 
I had arranged to take the stewardess with me to the 
hotel at Havre, as we would be obliged to remain 
over night, and start for Paris the next morning; but 
a lady, travelling with only her maid, wished me to 
take apartments with her, and so avoid the extra ex- 
pense my plan would involve. Strangely enough it 
afterward proved that this acquaintance and myself 
had been recommended to the same house in Paris ! 
Through some inadvertency I had left home without 
the address or name of Miss Ellis, and I determined 



IN PORT. 31 

to go to another house highly recommended by- 
friends who had Hved in Paris, with a French lady, 
her husband, and several American female artists. I 
promised my new companion, however, that I would 
join her if I found my proposed arrangement in- 
eligible. 

I suppose scarcely three of all the plans made by 
the ninety passengers were actually carried out when 
we arrived at the port. 

It is worth all the risk and discomfort of sea-sick- 
ness in crossing the ocean only to have the sensation 
of entering the port of Havre. We were favored 
with a glorious sunset, and a favorable breeze that 
rippled the deep blue waters till their diamond wave- 
lets, catching the reflected light, seemed like fairy 
lace-work, and our stately ship glided over its golden 
meshes as if moved by enchantment. On the high 
walls of the harbor, whose solid masonry might have 
been laid with the foundations of the world — so mas- 
sive does it appear — were hundreds of citizens of all 
grades, and in every description of costume, from the 
severe broadcloth and beaver of the Englishman to 
the skull-cap and blue blouse of the herdsman, and 
the trailing robe of a New York belle, or the appro- 
priate street costume of a French lady, to the gay 
petticoat and frilled cap of the peasant girl; while 
from the balconies and windows of the quaint and 
closely-built houses crowds of curious ladies and 
children stared at us through their opera-glasses, and 
waved us a welcome to France ! And now came the 



32 A WOMAN S EXPERIENCES IN EUROPE. 



n 



moment of pain. Our little company must separate, 
not likely to be ever united again till we should reach 
the haven where there are no partings. Our good , 
captain took each one by the hand, and his kind I 
wishes for our pleasant journeyings cheered even | 
those who wept because there were no friends to 
greet them at the end of a two weeks* voyage on a 
stormy ocean. 

But what a merry, patient party we were at the 
Custom House. Why ? Because there was no use 
in being anything else. For two mortal hours we 
were waiting to be called, occasionally peeping 
through the door, only to have it shut in our faces 
with a ^^Par-r-do7is ! Mesdames, Messieurs !'' from a 
smiling garde, who finally led us in, two at a time. 
Pointing out our trunks, with the assurance that they 
contained nothing but our personal effects, they were 
passed without being unlocked, and away we all went 
to secure rooms and a good dinner at the best hotels. 

The captain's clerk had kindly gone to the hotel 
while we were in " durance vile " at the Custom House, 
and engaged rooms for Mrs. A. and myself A good 
dinner was served immediately on our arrival, and 
our ears were assailed by the din of a French table 
d'hote. 

At nine o'clock in the evening we started out, and 
completely traversed the streets of Havre. Around 
the squares were booths gaily decorated and fitted 
up with fancy articles of every description for sale ; 
in others were amusements of all sorts, and the 



IN PORT. 33 

French contrive fun as they do dishes, out of nothing; 
ice-cream saloons, wine-tables, cafes, and everything 
one could eat, drink, wear, or use for furniture, were 
spread out and arranged in a style most attractive, 
and tempting to the purse. It was a good opportu- 
nity to see the people of France. 

A group of merry bourgeoise would clatter past us 
with their wooden shoes, followed by a dainty gri- 
sette, arm-in-arm with a soldier-lover, singing, without 
restraint, "Ah, que j'aime le militaire!" while on 
behind us would trundle a healthy mamma, accom- 
panied by an astonishing family of les petites, each 
clamoring for a different object of admiration in the 
tempting booths. Plenty of light in the streets and 
squares ; such unflagging good humor as an American 
crowd never evinces, make these French gala-nights 
perfectly charming to any visitor but an Englishman. 
To him it never ceases to be "extraordinary!" I 
missed my cradle so much that night when I laid 
me down to sleep in a Christian bed, that I took back 
all the ridicule I had, in the agonies of sea-sickness, 
heaped on the author of " A Life on the Ocean 
Wave." I passed a restless night, tossed with the 
tumult of strange thoughts that crowded upon me in 
a strange land. 

I welcomed the morning, and did not regret the 
rain that fell from heaven — just as it fell in America 
—though we were to set out on our journey to Paris. 



1 
I 



CHAPTER IV. 

ALONE IN PARIS. 

A WORD of advice to all who leave home for 
distraction. Sail directly for France. I defy 
Hamlet or his father's ghost to resist the laughable 
drama of every-day life in France. I was affected 
with a chronic smile all the time I was there. The 
first three weeks I did nothing but stare at the frantic 
gestures of the people, and let their verbal volleys 
fall on my tympanum without the slightest effort to 
comprehend a single word. All the French grammar 
and dictation in America were of no avail until I took 
the sound as one catches the measles, by contagion ! 
A consciousness that I was fairly infected seized me 
one morning under rather dubious circumstances. 

The stage from Villiers-la-Belle to Ecouen, where I 
was going to visit a colony of American art students, 
was crowded to suffocation. The French are ex- 
tremely practical. Half their life is passed in the 
open air, the other half in hermetically sealed houses 
and travelling conveyances. Their theory that stage 
windows were made to exclude oxygen is so faith- 
fully carried out that, for my part, I was in hourly 
danger of pulmonary apoplexy whenever it was my 

34 



ALONE IN PARIS. 35 

fate to enter one of their stages. On the particular 
occasion to which I refer, a respectable-looking vil- 
lage dame, whose requirements far exceeded the 
ordinary stage limit for one person, seemed to have 
very little regard for my feelings, and, with impolite- 
ness that I rarely met with in France, she made sev- 
eral comments on my "foreign air." Thinking a 
more liberal supply of native air would benefit me, I 
lowered the window near me. My tormentor cried 
out angrily that she would freeze, and her neighbors 
right and left were awfully squeezed as she rolled her 
huge figure from side to side in ungovernable rage, 
exclaiming, " If the American wants air, let her go on 
top." Her patois was execrable, but I understood it, 
and retorted, with an accent at least equal to hers, 
" Madame, as there is plenty of room on top, you 
might be more comfortable there yourself! " A 
scream of laughter from every passenger, and a clap- 
ping of hands indescribably expressive of their ec- 
stasy at this unexpected retort, rewarded my effort, 
and when madame turned, with great confusion, and 
remarked, " I thought you did not know our lan- 
guage," I was encouraged to continue my practice 
with the reply, " It is sometimes dangerous to pre- 
sume ! " 

For many reasons our American saloon-cars are 
preferable to the European railway-carriage. Eight 
persons shut up in one compartment, without proper 
ventilation, and four of them compelled to ride back- 
wards, amounts to a positive infliction after one has 



36 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

travelled a few hours. And when night overtakes 
one in these carriages, if they are full, the misery is 
indescribable. 

On entering the train at Havre for Paris my atten- 
tion was attracted by a porcelain plate inserted in the 
partition between the compartments, on which was a 
notice in French, German, and English. Under the 
plate was a triangular opening in the partition con- 
taining a ring, which was attached to a rope commu- 
nicating with the bell of the engine. A glass pane on 
either side the partition enclosed the ring, so that the 
occupants of two compartments could reach the 
same signal. I amused myself with copying the 
English notice. Who translated it for the railway 
company I never learned. 

"Signal Bell. 

" Should any extraordinary case require the pres- 
ence of the guard, passengers are requested to break 
the glass with their elbow, draw down the ring, and | 
agitate their arms through the right-hand zvi7idow\ " 
according to the direction of the train. Any passen- 
ger having called without reasonable cause will be 
liable to prosecution." 

Fortunately, there was no occasion to use my 
elbow for such a purpose, and I only speculated, with- 
out the necessity of practically trying the efficacy of 
" agitating my arms out of the window " of a train 
running thirty miles an hour. 

We found the waiting-rooms of European depots 



ALONE IN PARIS. 3/ 

divided for first, second, and third-class passengers, 
and we were admitted into the one corresponding 
with the ticket purchased before entering the depots, 
at the offices under an outside portico. The distinc- 
tion in the waiting-rooms consists of a cushioned 
chair for first-class passengers, a polished wooden 
one for second-class, and no chair at all for third- 
class. The carriages the same, with the addition of 
a fourth-class, roofless and less comfortable than our 
cattle-trains. The doors of the waiting-rooms lead- 
ing to the train are kept locked till the engineer sig- 
nals his readiness to start. Then they are opened 
outward by the gardes, and without confusion the 
passengers quickly find their places in the train ; the 
garde rings a bell, signifying that the last moment 
has elapsed, the conductor responds "AH right!" 
with a trumpet, and the engineer gives a final whistle 
as the carriages glide out of the depot with a smooth, 
rapid, easy motion perfectly delightful to the traveller. 

Notwithstanding the rain fell in torrents part of 
the day, the journey to Paris was a great pleasure to 
all of our party. The whole line of first-class car- 
riages had been engaged the night before for our 
ship's company. New York, New Orleans, Boston, 
and Philadelphia were represented in the carriage I 
occupied, and there was but one voice regarding the 
day's enjoyment when we reached our destination. 

From Havre to Paris the scenery is ^^ something 
wonderful!' as the English say ; a striking contrast 
to that of our enterprising but young America. 



38 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

Where new bricks and imitation brown-stone begin or 
terminate a railroad town at home, old walls, thatched 
roofs, and quaint-looking churches, crumbling and 
mouldering after ages of service, present themselves 
everywhere in France. There are no red brick houses 
to be seen, but all have a uniform, white appearance, 
made of a stone quarried in France, and of a compo- 
sition imitating it. Spires and cupolas are as numer- 
ous as chimneys at home. They do not have chim- 
neys like ours, but stove-pipes with caps, and to one 
unaccustomed to the sight it was very amusing to 
see as many stove-pipes on the roof, some tall, some 
short, as there were stoves or fire-places in the houses. 
The perfect cultivation of every foot of ground is 
charming to Americans, who have so much land to 
waste. A stretch of undulating table-land extends 
all along the road from Havre to Paris. Here a 
beautiful city, with its wide streets laid out regularly 
in squares, or with boulevards radiating from a grand 
centre ; there a vineyard, further on a chateau, with 
its extensive and splendidly - arranged parks and 
groves ; on a distant hill a ruined castle ; in the val- 
ley below an old monastery ; and everywhere the eye 
can glance, verdure, flowers, and decorations, — all 
denoting the exquisite taste so peculiar to the French 
nation. 

Even the way-stations have their pretty little gar- 
dens filled with roses, dahlias, crysanthemums, and 
violets, all strangely blooming in the same season. 
There is a great abundance of evergreen of all varie- 



ALONE IN PARIS. 39 

ties, and the trees and arbors are trimmed into every 
imaginable shape, with enough still growing in its 
natural luxuriant state to prevent any regret that the 
gardener's shears have been at work. The only thing 
in the whole landscape to mar the prospect is the 
appearance of a clownish peasant, with his uncouth 
wooden sabots, coarse blue cotton pants and blouse, 
with a yoke on his shoulders, with heavy baskets or 
buckets suspended from each side, or a rack strapped 
on his back loaded high above his head with trunks 
or boxes. Of this lowest class the wives and children 
are a forlorn-looking set. Stupid, heavy, and awk- 
ward, with no ambition above a holiday, with a good 
supply of bread, mutton, wine, and garlic. 

At this station let me say a word to my American 
sisters to soothe the wounded pride I am sure they 
have shared with myself. We have heard many anec- 
dotes of the ignorance of American upstarts, who 
are supposed to travel in Europe because it is fash- 
ionable. In Europe I have come in contact with at 
least five hundred American ladies, representing al- 
most every State in our Union, and nearly every one 
was educated, intelligent, and well bred. With hardly 
an exception, the moment they reach Havre they 
drop their native tongue and use the French lan- 
guage readily and with fluency, contrasting favorably 
with that of our English friends from across the 
Channel, who seem to be in constant danger of dis- 
locating their jaws in the very effort to change their 
rigid chopping enunciation to the easy accent of the 
French. 



40 A woman's experiences, in EUROPE. 

An Englishwoman, overhearing the remark that a 
certain lady found some difficulty in using the French 
language in consequence of having a bad memory, 
said quickly, ^^ Dear — me ! I thought all the Ameri- 
cans lamed French ! " *' So they do," was the reply ; 
" but, unfortunately, America is so far from France 
that they have not the advantage of practising it as 
you English ladies have." " Ah, yas ! dear me ! " 
And off she walked. Do not imagine, from this 
instance, that when the English and Americans meet 
in Paris, they are in a constant state of ferment. Some 
of the most genial travelling companions are to be I 
found among the better portion of what is called the 
middle class of English society — something between 
the "shopkeepers" and nobility — bank officers, 
owners of cotton factories, and the like. Providence 
be praised, we have only the distinction of merit at 
home ! 

Rolling into a grand iron depot just before sunset, 
the train quietly stopped, and the garde opened our 
door, saying, " Paris, ladies ! " 

No din, no confusion, no one in a hurry ! The air 
was cool after the storm, and in the immense wait- 
ing-room adjoining the Custom House we found large 
porcelain and gilt stoves, with a glowing fire that was 
grateful to our chilled and benumbed bodies, cooped up 
in one place all the day long. The tiled floors, waxed 
and polished to an alarming degree, suggested the 
usefulness of skates. Flowers arranged in variegated 
rows occupied every window - place, and the entire 



ALONE IN PARIS. 4I 

impression of the reception-room betokened the 
shrewdness of the French in cheerfully welcoming 
all travellers, the most reckless spendthrifts, and the 
eager jewel-brokers, to their city of baubles, with an 
irresistible grace. Not more than twenty minutes' 
detention in the waiting-room, and the usual confu- 
sion in the Custom House, I entered a voiture with 
an au revoir to Mrs. A., and found myself alone in the 
streets of Paris, with the ocean between myself and 
every friend I had in the world. The beatings of 
my heart were considerably quickened when the real 
ization came upon me so forcibly. 



CHAPTER V. 

CITY OF THE NAPOLEONS. 



1 



ONE has a very singular sensation on finding one's 
self alone in a strange world. I can only com- 
pare my feelings, as I drove up to Madame F.'s door 
that first evening in Paris, with what one would be 
likely to experience if, after reading a novel like the 
Wandering Jew or Les Miserables, he should suddenly 
arrive at a conviction that his own existence was a 
mere fancy, and that henceforth the only interest or 
part in life for him was the development of an inter- 
esting sequel to either of the fictions above mentioned. 
If my reader will be so amiable as to adopt this idea, 
we may find considerable entertainment in the per- 
sonages and adventures we encounter in this record 
of experiences. I promise to enact the part of hero- 
ine wherever circumstances will admit, provided 
always my reader will change his character to suit 
my various positions, — that is, from mere observer, 
when I am happy in my performance, to a sympa- 
thizing friend, when some unaccountable depression 
of imagination brings us to the unwelcome realization 
that we are not myths, but real flesh and blood char- 
acters — and only women after all. 

42 



CITY OF THE NAPOLEONS. 43 

A drive through the Pare Monceaux, at sunset on 
a fine day in Autumn, every gate-post ornamented 
with the inevitable gilded N, that convinced me I was 
indeed in the City of the Napoleons — the pride of 
France — myself and my trunks at the mercy of a 
cocker, who received my stammering directions, 

" Numero Boulevard de Neuilly," with the sang 

froid of a Custom House officer, only remarking, as 
he jammed the door shut on my numerous packages, 
that they and I fitted in the narrow seat " un peu 
juste." These circumstances furnish us with a fair 
opening for our realistic novel. 

As color is the first thing that we are sure an infant 
is impressed with in the world, I think it is the most 
vivid of my first recollections of Paris. White and 
gold. White streets, white pavements, white houses, 
gilded fences and golden skies. Driving to the mid- 
dle house in a long row of white edifices, cocker 
came down from the box — not like a sylph — and 
opening the door, uttered that significant enuncia- 
tion, " Voila, madame ! " A little girl, a daughter of 
the concierge, in a blue pinafore and pattens, was 
dancing a pas seul in the porte cochere, and a nasal 
tra-la-la-la, like the sound of a pair of tin castanets, 
accompanied her original steps. While cocker was 
attending to my luggage, I courageously undertook a 
French dialogue with la petite. 

She instructed me in the monetary system of 
France, as well as its moral laws regarding coachmen, 
and informed me it was " the mode " to give drink- 



44 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

money {pour boire) to said coachman, and, what was 
more, they could demand it. 

My first lesson in the practice of sustaining ini- 
quity by law from an infant ! Without demur, how- 
ever, I paid tribute to the demon of Paris, on the 
principle that in Rome one must do like the Romans. 

In the meantime the father of la petite had begun 
to ascend with my baggage, and the mother of la 
petite was descending with my hostess. Oh, joy ! 
what a reception ! An embrace, comprising a kiss on 
each cheek, throwing both arms around my neck, a 
pat on my shoulder, a squeeze of each hand, another 
kiss on each cheek, another throwing of both arms 
around me, a more demonstrative pat on each shoulder, i 
and the imprisonment of my hand in both of ma- 
dame's little, fat white hands, while she trotted me up 
to — au troisihne — imperilling my neck on every 
one of the slippery waxed steps, while she laughed, 
cried, exclaimed, "pauvre petite!" "oh, mon Dieu!" 
"so far — so far — chez elle — America — oh, mon 
Dieu!" — till I was actually carried away by her 
sympathetic excitement, and found myself laughing, 
crying, and talking gibberish as fast as the kind noble- 
hearted little Frenchwoman. And up to the mo- 
ment when the concierge announced to Madame F. 
that " a lady from America was at the door with a 
letter from Mademoiselle et Monsieur L.," that little 
woman was as ignorant of. my existence as you are 
of my identity at this moment, dear Reader ! So 
bear in mind, that, whatever! may say that appears 



CITY OF THE NAPOLEONS. 45 

like ridicule of the French character or customs, I 
have a warm spot in my heart for the French people 
that would glow with pleasure at any opportunity to 
reciprocate the genial kindness I received at the 
hands of a number, of whom Madame F. was a fair 
representative. 

Our affectionate skirmishing fire of greetings, ex- 
clamations, and congratulations all went beautifully 
enough ; but everything must have an end, and when 
that excitement of our meeting came to an end, 
madame and I were suddenly silent. Each of us 
had a great deal to say, but neither of us had the 
most remote idea of the proper way to say it. 
Madame was the daughter of one of the members of 
the Legion of Honor, and had been educated in the 
Imperial College instituted by Napoleon I. After 
fifteen years of seclusion in that establishment, the 
first use she made of her freedom from exceedingly 
severe restraint was to select for herself a husband 
and enter into a bond, as we term it, of matrimony, 
but according to a Frenchwoman's idea, into a state 
of blissful independence. Monsieur F., in point 
of education, birth, and ingrained refinement, was 
madame's equal, and in all Paris a more agreeable 
and edifying pair could not have been found. But 
madame had, like myself, a strong prejudice in favor 
of her own language, and monsieur absolutely refused 
to attempt English. All this I knew before I left 
America, and had considered it a fortunate circum- 
stance that I should be compelled to adopt in their 



46 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

house a language I would never use from choice. 
But when I sat face to face with my vivacious 
new friend, with a hundred pleasant thoughts strug- 
gling for utterance and not one word shaping itself 
on my obstinate tongue, I regarded the affair in 
a more serious light; and never shall I forget the 
feeling of relief I experienced when a door opposite 
the one by which I had entered the room, burst open 
and two American young ladies ran in, each seizing 
a hand and then embracing me in a manner that 
delighted madame's warm heart. "These are my 
American childrens," she exclaimed, and then ran on, 
without noticing our rapid interchange of questions 
as to friends at home and friends abroad with whom 
we had a mutual acquaintance ; the little woman seemed 
to revel in her voluble expressions of joy at the addi- 
tion to her "American childrens." Her remarks were 
translated and criticised with equally good humor by 
the youngest and sauciest girl, who proved afterwards 
a sore trial to my risibles in the grave presence of 
monsieur. That gentleman's acquaintance I made in 
the dining-room, a half hour after my arrival. 

Never was my heart so grateful for the manifest 
goodness of Providence to a wanderer, and yet so 
painfully impressed with its utter loneliness, made 
more apparent by the very efforts of these new 
friends to cheer and divert my thoughts from the dis- 
tant home. Monsieur had a musical voice, unlike 
the majority of Frenchmen, and he enunciated slowly 
and distinctly, pausing long enough, when I was at 



CITY OF THE NAPOLEONS. 4/ 

fault, for my countrywomen to interpret for me ; so I 
really had a valuable lesson in French at my very 
first meal in Paris. We remained at table nearly three 
hours, and I went directly after dinner to my own 
little bed-room, where madame followed me, and for- 
bidding Marie, a pretty little femme-de-chambre, the 
office, assisted me to unrobe and prepare for the night. 
At last I was buried under a swan's-down bed, and, 
after a whole page of good wishes, pious petitions, 
dubious ejaculations, and a series of little, musical 
laughs at my almost total eclipse in the beruffled pil- 
lows, madame left me, "tucked in" so tight, that if 
Paris had been in a conflagration that night, I should 
have had to trust to the sagacity of the experienced 
fire police to discover and extricate me. 

The custom of turning down the bed-clothes in 
France by the femme-de-chambre is by no means 
superfluous ; for, to my cost, I had occasion several 
times to perform the service for myself, and I really 
thought a ruptured blood-vessel in the region of my 
lungs would be the result. Undoubtedly the habit of 
making the clothes so tight on the bed comes from the 
fashion of covering the bed, after it is made up, with 
a lace outside cover ; and in order to display the pat- 
tern to advantage, the under-covers must be turned in, 
so as to make a perfectly smooth surface. In these 
particulars the present generation of French dames are 
where our great-grandmothers were a hundred years 
ago. 

I was awakened by a burst of light, sure enough, 



48 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 



1 



in my room, — broad daylight, and madame, in dress- 
ing-gown and slippers, followed by Marie, who carried 
a tray on which was a doll's coffee-pot and a plethoric 
cream pitcher of boiling milk, a boiled egg, and a 
plate of toast. My ablutions performed a la Fran- 
^ais, with Marie's assistance, I took my breakfast, 
bolstered up in bed, and madame was charmed with 
my ready compliance with this fashion " not Ameri- 
caine, n'est pas ? " 

After four months' practice, I became perfect in this 
lesson, and I have a sneaking hope that the new re- 
gime will not altogether abolish the old luxuriant 
habits of Imperial times. Alas ! a Prussian bomb- 
shell has changed the home of Madame F. into — but 
I must not anticipate. 



CHAPTER VI. 

FIRST VIEWS OF PARIS. 

BEFORE my toilette was completed, Mrs. A. 
called to offer her services as escort through the 
city. I appreciated the kindness, and gladly availed 
myself of her agreeable companionship, and we set 
out for a day's adventure, with no aim or object other 
than the attractions we might successively encounter. 
First, however, we called at Mrs. A.'s boarding- 
house, and I then discovered it was the very house 
recommended by several friends for my own residence. 
And Miss Ellis informed me that a family I had 
greatly desired to meet in Paris had left her house 
only three days before, on their return home. With 
more than a half reluctance I resolved to desert Ma- 
dame F.'s for Miss Ellis's cheerful house, induced by 
Miss E.'s own genial manner, the prospect of meeting 
numbers of my country-people, whose experiences 
would greatly benefit me in the way of directions in 
sight-seeing, travels, economy, etc., to say nothing of 
the desire to be near Mrs. A., who seemed to find 
sufficient comfort in my companionship to look after 
me so kindly when I was a stranger to Paris, where 
she was already well acquainted. 

8 49 



50 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 



I 



There are different rules to be observed by the res- 
idents of Paris and American visitors. " They are 
Americans," vi^as sufficient explanation for any of our | 
actions within the bounds of prudence ; yet not so 
absurdly limited on the one hand, or independent on I 
the other, as a married Frenchwoman's code pre- 
scribes. 

To the reproaches of my heart regarding my deser- 
tion of my good Madame F. I replied, " I have come 
abroad for diversion, and at Miss E/s I can have an 
incessant stream of it without an effort on my part. 
At Madame F.'s I must work for the mere compre- 
hension of what is passing around me, ears and tongue 
must repeat all their nursery lessons, and I doubt if my 
sanitary condition warrants the patient endurance re- 
quisite for the task." So I silenced, if I did not con- 
vince the pleading voice within ; and, like all apostates, 
I rushed into a day's dissipation to utterly drown its 
remonstrances. 

Ah ! Madame F., how often I came to your bright 
little salon with a home-sick heart, received your 
caresses with grateful tenderness of affection, grew 
merry over a cup of cafe au-lait, read Dumas with you, 
and to your " Adieu, mon enfant, come soon again," 
returned a cheerful "remercie" and — the image of 
Napoleon on a round piece of gold ! The " almighty 
dollar" of the American may be deservedly pro- 
verbial, but a franc in Paris and a shilling in London 
are sufficient to try the quality of English or French 
generosity. 



FIRST VIEWS OF PARIS. 5I 

To my mind the American character never suffers 
by the comparison. 

Mrs. A. and myself were well mated for a few 
months* mutual enjoyment of Paris. We both 
sought " distraction," and on that ground our plans 
and purposes agreed admirably. 

The first day in Paris. Our starting-point for a 
ramble was Miss Ellis's house, formerly a palace of 
the Duke d'Orleans, directly below the Arc de 
Triomphe, on the grandest avenue in the world, the 
Champs Elysees ! As we drove towards the Tuileries 
between the two living panoramas on either side, I 
fancied the pictures of Jacob Abbott and other 
ministers to my childish amusements had suddenly 
sprung into actual existence, and that in a moment or 
two this fairy scene would all vanish and I would 
awake from my dreamy continuation of " Rollo in 
Paris" in my trundle-bed at home. But, a gay 
laugh of my companion at my complete oblivion to 
everything but the spell of the scene, -brought me to 
my natural senses and a rather impatient, though 
only mental, assent to the realities of life. 

Looking to the right of the avenue for the famous 
tomb of Napoleon, what did we see ? A force of 
artisans regilding the Dome of the Invalides ! Were 
my eyes deceiving me? No. Napoleon III. was 
indorsing that sneering sarcasm of Napoleon I., 
when he was asked, " And what occupation have we 
for the people to prevent a revolution ? " Folly, 
branded on the national character in golden letters, 



I 



52 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

was the practical answer then ; and here was a re- 
newal of the impression by his bold successor. 

But what can gilding avail, of dome, palace, or 
triumphal arc, when the people are nursing their 
wrath in stubborn breasts under cotton blouses, till a 
favorable wind shall fan the sparks to flames and 
carry the flames high above the artificial fire-light of 
the Dome of the Invalides ! Sullen submission, or 
assumed cheerfulness are surely not reliable. A 
flickering bougie for the light of faith, and a vive 
VEinpereur for an outburst of patriotism — a moment 
before Paris was bright as fairy-land, now I saw only 
a whited sepulchre, the earth beneath us was hollow,! 
and from the Imperial tomb on the banks of the 
Seine to the narrow bed of the bourgeois in the^ 
cemetery of Montmartre, I knew there was but rotten- 
ness and dead men's bones. " There is but one Paris, 
and Napoleon is its master," I exclaimed then. "There 
is but one Napoleon, and in France he has no master,"! 
I whisper now, entre nous. In the palace-gardens,! 
under the very windows of the Tuileries, I was amused 
to see every child who could handle a wooden spade, 
<^iggi"g holes in the gravel walks, and filling little 
buckets as fast as they were overturned by their 
bonnetless bonnes. The French Medical Society 
considered it conducive to the health of children to 
play in the dirt, and the Empress smiled her approval 
from the palace-windows at this juvenile army of 
sappers and miners, who were only mimicking the 
future farce of Equality that their parents would per- 



FIRST VIEWS OF PARIS. 53 

form. A hundred children were engaged in this in- 
teresting employment of defacing the smooth walks 
of the Imperial gardens, — from the nobleman's son, 
with a bonne to lead him, a gouvernante to watch 
the bonne, a footman to follow the gouvernante, and 
a coachman slowly driving after the footman with the 
infant's carriage, to the son of the concierge with 
only grandmother to guard him from falling into the 
ditch himself was digging ! A corps of men, furnished 
with rake and roller, covered up all traces of these 
•Jittle vandals each morning. Who will remove the 
ugly impressions their fathers have made? Who 
will restore the fearful ruin of Paris? It was so 
beautiful. Why could n't it last ? Why were not 
these gardeners content with their wages ? Every- 
thing went on smoothly. The government paid the 
laborers at the end of a month, papa paid for the little 
sapper and miner's amusements at the end of a year, 
the medical directors patted the chubby children's 
cheeks, assisted at the advent of new cherubs, and 
harmony reigned everywhere — even to the unfinished 
Opera House. For that white and golden monu- 
ment, what sacrifices were made ! The rigid marble 
features of those grim-faced musicians in rows o4 
half relieved medallions looked sternly down on the 
destruction of valuable property all around the site 
of the Opera House, and the light that gleamed on 
those marble countenances, as it broke through rifts 
in the clouds, was not like the light of inspiration, 
but the derision and sardonic glee of anticipation of 



54 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

the grand overture to the Fall of Paris, that would 
soon startle the world with the crash of martial 
music ! 

It was nearly completed, and the Emperor's archi- 
tects and surveyors thought it would present a finer 
appearance if certain large houses, stores that were an 
ornament to the Rue de la Paix, were not obstructing 
the view. Farewell to the stores. The Emperor or- 
dered them down. The whole magnificent block of 
jewelry, millinery, and display windows of all sorts 
of wares disappeared, and the debris of destroyed 
buildings was carted away as fast as possible. One 
of the most celebrated modistes suffered by this last 
Imperial order, for she occupied the establishment, 
and her grandmother before her, for fifty years. An 
enormous sum of money, and the sole right to place 
on her sign, " Modiste to Her Majesty the Empress," 
somewhat mollified her grief So the pills of the Em- 
peror were sugar-coated. 

Hungry enough to afford an excuse for entering a 
cafe on the Boulevards, I was struck with the singular 
contrast in the manner of conducting these establish- 
ments in Paris and most American cities. The cafe 
;vas blazing with mirrors and gilding, but the attend- 
ants dispensed with all ornament. At a desk, raised 
by a platform above the level of tables occupied by 
visitors, a fine-looking French matron was employed, 
not in counting money or staring at the *' customers," 
but painting in oil from sketches made at the Louvre, 
no doubt the Sunday previous. Her desk was orna- 



FIRST VIEWS OF PARIS. 55 

merited with vases of fresh flowers ; a globe contain- 
ing gold-fish screened her from the gaze of those who 
sat directly facing her, and while the gar§ons placed 
their checks before her ; took change in return, and 
walked silently off to their duties, Madame was ab- 
sorbed in her work, and yet never missed a gracious 
*' bon jour, monsieur," to every Frenchman, as each 
one touched his hat in passing on his way out of the 
salon. Madame's dress was invariably black silk, 
her ornaments of jet. These our American attend- 
ants may imitate, but her manner it would be useless 
to attempt. 

After this refreshment, Mrs. A. and myself were en- 
joying a promenade, when we found ourselves in a 
crowd of Russian ladies and children demanding ad- 
mittance to the magnificent Greek Church on the Rue 
de la Croix, dedicated to the Trinity and St. Alexan- 
der Newsky ! 

Judging from the rich toilettes of the Russian 
ladies that some extraordinary occasion had attracted 
them to the church, we dismissed our voiture and 
joined the impatient crowd, as ignorant of their ob- 
ject in assembling as they seemed to be of our right 
to enter the church with them. However, when they 
entered we followed; but to our amazement the 
gates were immediately closed and locked behind us. 
We were not sufficiently alarmed to neglect an oppor- 
tunity to examine this celebrated church, built in 1 86i, 
at a cost of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, 
the voluntary contributions of the richest families of 



56 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

St. Petersburg, through their Embassador at Paris. 
The form of the building is that of the Greek cross. 
At the corners it is flanked with octagonal turrets, 
each surmounted by a conical roof similar to that 
which covers the main body. On each cone is a spire 
ending with a Greek double cross, with pendent 
chains, the whole elegantly gilt and sculptured. 

Glancing hastily at the exterior as we ascended by 
seven steps to a circular porch, consisting of a richly 
ornamented cupola resting on pillars, I was not a little 
amused at this accidental visit, that costs so much 
trouble and circumlocution-office business generally 
to obtain. But why were we locked in ? 

Entering the church, we were dazzled by the gor- 
geous paintings, gildings, carvings, and gold embroi- 
dery that composed the altar and the screen that sepa- 
rated the sacred choristers from the congregation. 
The floor was richly carpeted ; a few chairs were all 
the seats allowed. Finding the church apparently 
unoccupied, our perplexity was increased ; but as the 
party who entered with us passed into one of the 
semicircular recesses, we did the same, and soon 
preparations began for the marriage. An altar of 
massive gilt was placed exactly in the middle of the 
main circle. A priest in purple and gold, with another 
dressed in white and gold, entered with a massive 
golden candlestick and a candle, which they placed 
beside the altar, and two candles, moulded in different 
designs, decorated with white ribbons, tied with 2, pink 
ribbon. Then the doors by which we had entered 



FIRST VIEWS OF PARIS. 5/ 

opened again, and in walked a bridal procession, the 
bride of course in white satin, with a veil that com- 
pletely enveloped her ; bridesmaids, dressed exactly 
like the bride, only their faces were not veiled. All 
carried bouquets that filled the church with their 
odors. The two candles were lighted, and placed in 
the hands of the bride and groom. Then rose from 
behind the altar such chanting as I never imagined 
human voices could sound. Through the vaulted roofs 
the notes swelled and died away, like echoings from 
heaven. At the conclusion of this strain, the mother 
of the bride, dressed in violet silk richly trimmed with 
satin, approached the altar, and placed on it a heavily 
gilt clasped book. The priest opened it, and presented 
a pen to the bride, who entered her signature ; then 
to the groom. Both having kissed the book, and 
knelt, still holding the lighted candles, the chanting 
was resumed. A long strip of pink satin was now 
brought and placed on the floor before the altar ; the 
priest, joining the hands of the bride and groom, raised 
them from their knees, and drew them on this pink 
satin, where they remained stationary till the end of 
the ceremony. What signification this had, your be- 
nighted informant knoweth not. 

Now, two crowns, composed of white flowers, sur- 
mounted by gold crosses, were held over, but not on 
the heads of both, by the groomsmen. This continued 
so long that they were obliged to change hands fre- 
quently to relieve their aching arms. Then a dish of 
wine was brought, and presented by the priest to the 



58 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

lips of the bride and groom three times alternately. 
Then followed the most beautiful part of the cere- 
mony. Taking their clasped hands, the priest led the 
happy couple — while the groomsmen followed, bear- 
ing the crowns over their bowed heads, the parents 
and bridesmaids following in procession — three times 
around the altar, while the choir chanted a glorious 
and jubilant strain. The soft lights of the wax tapers 
reflected on the satin dresses, the harmonious blend- 
ing of color, sound, and burning incense and orange4 
perfumes, were delightful beyond description. Again 
before the altar, the bride lowered her crown of flow- 
ers, and kissed the cross on it, and the priest kissed 
it also ; the groom did the same, and the marriage was 
complete. 

Slipping through the crowd of friends too much 
occupied with their congratulations to observe my 
companion and myself, we found the gates opened, 
and hurried to our homes. Our day's adventures af- 
forded considerable amusement to Madame F. and 
Miss Ellis, who assured us our residence in Paris 
might have been prolonged several years without such 
an opportunity offering. 



CHAPTER VII. 

EUGENIE AND THE PRINCESS MATHILDE. 

EVERY woman who visited Paris before the 
siege was naturally desirous to see the woman 
who reigned nominally over France, but actually over 
every fashionable woman in the world. The Empress 
appeared very lovely and very beautiful to me. 

The first time I saw her was on the occasion of a 
prize distribution among the members of a female 
orphan school, which the Empress herself had 
founded. 

The day was the Sabbath, and the weather favored 
the throngs of promenaders who crowded the Champs 
Elysees, near the Palais de ITndustrie, where the full 
corps of the Empress's body-guard was stationed to 
keep a clear space for the passage in and out of the 
Imperial cortege. 

The Prince Imperial attended the Empress, with an 
additional guard of five hundred horsemen ; and the 
Emperor's guard joined to that, formed the most bril- 
liant royal escort I saw in all Europe, not excepting 
that of the Pope of Rome. The people, dressed in 
their gay Sunday finery, formed an immense crowd in 
a circle outside the line of infantry soldiers, forming a 

59 



60 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

barrier between the guard and the canaille. Paying a 
sous for the use of an iron chair on the sidewalk, I 
stood on it, and resting against a tree, watched with 
intense interest the multitude of people awaiting with 
almost breathless anxiety the appearance of the Em- 
press. 

The great gates of the porte cochere of the Palais de 
rindustrie were suddenly thrown open, outriders in 
the Empress's livery, blue and silver, dashed through 
the entrance, a barouche drawn by four white horses, 
the postilions in blue and silver, followed, and we 
caught a glimpse of a delicate woman and a gentle 
boy, both beautiful, the boy evidently inheriting more 
of his mother's effeminacy than of Napoleon's powers 
of endurance. 

The Empress and Prince Imperial bowed their ac- 
knowledgments to the " vivas " that burst simulta- 
neously from the great concourse of people. The 
Empress was evidently weary of the public duties re- 
quired of her ; and in her manner of recognizing the 
throngs around her there, she betrayed a Syrian lan- 
guor that was as charming as her smile was irresist- 
ible to her male admirers. 

After the Imperial carriage came that of the 
Princess Mathilde, sister to the Prince Napoleon, who, 
I have good reason to suspect, exerted a strong, 
though silent influence over the Liberal party. I am 
indebted to my own *' sharp optics " alone for this 
piece of information, and I will relate how I acquired 
it. 



EUGENIE AND THE PRINCESS MATHILDE. 6l 

No apology for my sudden change of topics will 
be required, for so perfectly are the movements of 
Imperial processions regulated in France, that the 
guard had closed in around the two royal carriages, 
and the whole cortege was going at a full gallop 
through the Bois de Boulogne on their way to St. 
Cloud, before I had time to finish whispering my sus- 
picion to my companion. I had " done Paris " ac- 
cording to Galignani — the most approved local 
authority for sight-seeing in Paris — and was heartily 
sick of the wearisome monotonous ways of the whole 
tribe of valets, and superior and inferior functionaries 
who " had the honor to be my very humble servants " 
on all occasions of extraordinary sight-seeing, and the 
impudence to demand extortionate fees after the 
"occasions; " and when I gave the fee rather than dis- 
pute with servants, I had the poor satisfaction of see- 
ing my country-people hustled out of the show-places 
like a herd of their own miserable bourgeois, by 
these self-important government lackeys. But I 
must not exhaust my indignation before I get to the 
London lackeys, of all men most miserable. 

I had " done Paris," I repeat, after Galignani's 
method, and now I only longed for a few weeks of 
independene a VAmericaine. 

A lady from Washington, to whom I was intro- 
duced by Miss E., recommended a French teacher 
who had taken a prize for both French and English 
at the Academy of France. Her hotel was near the 
Madeleine, and situated so as to command a view of 



62 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

boulevards from every window. In this Hotel de 
Famille boarded old French countesses, German 
noblewomen, Swedish poets and historians, Chinese 
philosophers, (!) French editors, (! !) and any number 
of other literary and noble would-be's. The difficulty 
I had in tearing myself away from the circle of 
friends who had assumed the duties of chaperonage 
over me, was only a repetition on a smaller scale of 
the charges of insanity that met my resolution to 
leave America. And the result was exactly the 
same. " I did so, and did well." I would not give 
my four weeks' experience in that French house for 
all the other ten months of Parisian life. Such an^ 
opportunity to observe strange people and habits can 
come but once in a lifetime to the most fortunate. It 
was a chapter of Victor Hugo touched with a magi- 
cian's wand. I expected to find myself sometimes in 
a wide window-seat of a certain old house of revolu- 
tionary fame near Germantown, my feet curled under 
me, and a ragged old novel in my lap, but — I did 
not. It was all real, and I was witnessing in the 
Present what I had read with devouring interest in 
the Past — French breakfasts, French dinners, French 
reunions, French card-parties, French intrigues politi- 
caley and a phase of French life altogether, that one 
will never find anywhere but in such a Hotel de 
Fatnille. 

My black crepe dress was my armor in my soli- 
tary rambles in the thoroughfares of Paris, and in the 
hotel, mademoiselle, my French teacher, was often 



EUGENIE AND THE PRINCESS MATHILDE. 63 

forced to remind the court-gossips of my presence 
with a subdued "St/ voila VAmericaine, elle comprend, 
mesdames, messieurs!'' when the gay dames chattered 
and gesticulated over their cards, reckless of the con- 
sequences of betrayal, in fact, never more than half 
conscious of the existence of a " chiel among them, 
taking notes." 

Mrs. A. failing to persuade me to accompany her to 
Holland, had resigned me to my choice, and I was 
now fairly adrift on a new field of solitary adventure. 
The people who most interested me in the hotel, 
were a Swedish lady and her husband, residing in 
Paris for the purpose of translating a work from the 
French into the Swedish language, by order of their 
own government. Madame B. and myself formed a 
mutual attachment, and we met every day in my 
room to read French, English, and German together, 
a half hour being devoted to each language. A 
little Irish lady, whose French accent was perfectly 
charming, spending a winter in Paris, under the care 
of an old family servant, — one of the original Hi- 
bernians, — delighted me with her easy, sprightly, 
pretty ways, and without inviting it by any special 
thought of herself, she was the belle of this strange 
medley of people, her election accorded by that 
voice of involuntary respect that speaks from every 
true woman's breast in the presence of a pure, intel- 
ligent, cheerful woman, whose life is passed in mak- 
ing other's lives brighter and better. Oh, Ireland, I 
hope one day to visit your lake-scenes, and if you 



1 



64 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

disappoint me, as some have complained of you, pre- 
serve the freshness, the simpHcity, the sweet grace 
of the women of your real gentry, and I will forgive 
the rest. 

, One American lady who had long resided abroad, 
the sister of a distinguished explorer, and daughter 
of a well-known poetess, formed one of the little 
circle to which my social intercourse was limited. 
Madame L., the wife of one of the editors of the 

M , was a singularly attractive woman. She was 

translating a Chinese work into French, and often re- 
ceived, in the grand salon, the Chinese ambassadors, 
who seemed to depend on her and the Princess Ma- 
thilde — I am coming to my story — for their enter- 
tainment. 

One evening, madame, our hostess, gave a grand 
entertainment. All the inmates of the hotel were in 
the salon, and numbers of noble guests, not excepting 
the noble guard of the Empress, were present. 

Thinking myself unobserved behind a column that 
supported the arch of an alcove in which Madame L. 
was discussing a question proposed by the Princess 
Mathilde, for the amusement of the Chinese guests, I 
watched the nervous, eager movements of her hus- 
band, whose pale, cadaverous countenance was always 
expressive of a pending political explosion, when a 
voice whispered, " Will madame favor me with one 
waltz ? " To my amazement, I saw a blue and silvered 
livery before me, and in it an officer who had been 
pointed out as the favorite guard of the Empress. 



I 



I 



EUGENIE AND THE PRINCESS MATHILDE. 65 

*' Monsieur, excuse me ; I do not dance. You see I 
am in mourning ! " I answered. " Ah, madame can 
surely not make that an excuse ! " 

With difficulty I repressed my extreme amusement 
,^t this absurdly characteristic speech, and diverted 
the polite Frenchman from his supposed embarrass- 
ment to a brief discussion of the notable personages 
present. I discovered, however, when the conversa- 
tion was ended, that I had been wasting my sympa- 
thies. 

A demure little duchess immediately took me to 
task for slighting a rare opportunity to unite " mj^ 
wealth " with a title untarnished, and one that was not 
easily gained ! To my expressions of amazement at 
her taking a mere compliment for an intention so 
serious, she confessed her own share in the encounter 
and disappointment. I immediately administered an 
infallible quietus. I told madame that no American 
knew the real value of money, and we proved it by ex- 
hausting our whole capital in one journey, knowing 
we must devote the rest of our lives to journalism, 
school-marmism, or any paying bread-and-butter- 
ism. 

From that date I had no applications for a good 
" dot." 

But I did not go unpunished for my " malice," as 
madame, the duchess, termed it. She had her revenge 
in a way quite unexpected, and more seriously annoy- 
ing to me than I realized at the moment. Two copies 
of the Philadelphia Bulletin had been given to me by a 



66 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

gentleman " from home," in the presence of mademoi- 
selle my French teacher. Seeing my initials at the 
foot of the columns of " Foreign Correspondence," 
mademoiselle secured the papers, and, to my confu- 
sion, produced them for general inspection at the very 
moment when I was triumphing over the duchess's 
defeat. Calling a Spanish gentleman very ready in 
translation, mademoiselle, at the instigation of the 
duchess, placed my letters in the hands of the Span- 
iard, who took a position at one end of the salon, and 
read aloud my effusions, ridiculing the French soldiers, 
French government, and French follies generally. 

During the reading, interrupted by bursts of laugh- 
ter at some things honestly admitted as truth, though 
showing the French people in a ludicrous light, my 
eyes were riveted on the face of monsieur, the editor 

of the . Smothered wrath was struggling in 

every line of his rigid countenance, and when, at the 
conclusion of the reading, the company expressed 
their " entertainment " by a clapping of hands and | 
good-natured exclamations, such as, " Ah^ madame, 
comine votes etes mechante!'' monsieur disappeared, 
followed by madame, and from that date every news- 
paper addressed to me from America was inter- 
cepted ! 

When professors of the Academic were exiled from 
France for advocating the liberal movement towards 
unlimited education of the daughters of the better 
classes in France, I could have pointed out the 
Princess who enlisted the sympathies of the Empress, 



■I 



EUGENIE AND THE PRINCESS MATHILDE. 6/ 

the pale Frenchwoman who conferred almost daily 
with the Princess, the husband who dictated to the 

friend of the Princess, and the articles in the , 

signed boldly by the editor, but artfully conveying 
in cloaked sentences the suggestions useful to the 
friends of the Princess. 

But I can no more prove my charges now than I 
could then, and there is no occasion. I have seen 
some of those names in the list of the dead of that 
dreadful siege, and I know that all have suffered ter- 
ribly. God pity and comfort the survivors ! 

This explanation will be better understood by cer- 
tain officials in Rome, and applied to a principle 
among the causes of disaffection in the French Cath- 
olic churches towards Papal restrictions, than I feel at 
liberty to assert with due emphasis. But I take 
nothing back - — what is writ, is writ. 

On a still greater occasion than that of the prize 
distribution, I saw the Empress Eugenie. Any Em- 
peror but a Napoleon would have regarded it as a 
glorious triumph to receive the young Emperor of 
Austria into the most magnificent city in the world, 
escort him in state carriages, gorgeous with gilding 
and splendid upholstery, through miles of French 
bayonets, forming unbroken lines of glittering steel 
from the Barriere to the Palace of the Elysees. The 
asphaltum pavements, over which it was a luxury for 
even an Emperor to drive, were covered with fine saw- 
dust for the royal guest. I never witnessed these 
royal processions without apprehension ; and while I 



68 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

shuddered at the possible consequences of the people's 
suddenly contrasting their abject condition with the 
extravagant display of gaudy royalty, the objects of 
my alarm were flying through the boulevards with all 
possible speed ; outriders, postilions, horses, and the 
very wheels of the vehicles seeming animated with an 
unutterable dread of the people's waking up to their 
natural love of equality. 

To give an idea of the swiftness with which the 
Emperor's carriages always passed through the streets 
when on their way to or from St. Cloud, I have often, 
from my room on the Champs Elysees, heard the 
postilion's bells jingling before they left the Avenue of 
the Grand Army between the Bois and the Arc de 
I'Etoile, and before I could open my window and 
reach the railing of my balcony, the cortege, often 
comprising heavy travelling carriages, had passed the 
house, and in a moment even the sound of the bells 
had died away in the distance. 

The grand feature of the entertainment of an em- 
peror by an emperor, was the review of forty thousand 
French troops on the Champs de Mars. There was 
apparently but one dull person in all Paris that day — 
the Emperor Napoleon. 

Depressed and anxious, his figure bowed over the 
saddle, he presented a sad contrast to the erect, buoy- 
ant, youthful figure of the Emperor of Austria who 
rode beside him, 

I went in a barouche packed with Americans to 
the scene of the review. Through the grand avenues 



EUGENIE AND THE PRINCESS MATHILDE. 69 

of the Bois de Boulogne, on the banks of its lakes, 
through the paths winding with its rivulets, out to the 
extreme verge of the immense park, and crowded 
into the Tribunes, were the youth, fashion, and wealth 
of Parisian society. Forty thousand troops in bright 
uniforms, infantry, cavalry, and artillery, running, 
dancing, promenading, flirting with the vivandieres, 
and enjoying the occasion as only French soldiers can 
enjoy a gala-day. Suddenly a cry of " V Empereiir ! " 
changes the scene with magic quickness. The guard 
of the Empress dashes up to the Tribunes, the flying 
carriages of Her Majesty and suite follow, and in a 
moment Eugenie, the pride of all Frenchwomen, is 
bowing her acknowledgments to the acclaiming mul- 
titude. The field! it baffles description. In solid 
squares stand the troops, horse and cannon, — the 
waving plumes, flashing bayonets, and impatient 
neighing of the excited horses, the only proof that 
the whole vast scene is real^ and not a picture of the 
imagination. Amid the roar of cannon, the roll 
of drums, and the shouts of the troops, the two 
Emperors enter with their attendants and guards. 

They advance to the Tribunes, where the Empress, 
the old Queen of Holland, the Princess Mathilde, and 
numerous court ladies receive their salutj that is taken 
up by one hundred and fifty thousand voices, whose 
cheers grow deafening as the two Emperors, with 
their suites, dash off for a gallop around the whole line 
of infantry, cavalry, and artillery. Field-glasses were 
in requisition, and but for the white uniforms, red 



70 A WOMAN S EXPERIENCES IN EUROPE. I| 

sashes, and green plumes of the Austrian Emperor 
and the Archduke his brother, it would have been 
impossible to follow them in the swift scamper through 
such hosts of soldiers. 

Returning to the Tribunes, the two Imperial parties 
took a position opposite to the Tribune of the Em- 
press, facing her, and the whole army passed in re- 
view between them. 

The marching of the infantry, the riding and ma- I 
nceuvring of the cavalry and artillery, were never sur-" 
passed. Sir Walter Scott would have immortalized 
the occasion. 

After the review, the Emperor escorted his noble 
guest to the Palace of the Elysees, the Empress made 
a ceremonious call, and returned to St. Cloud. A half 
hour later, the Emperor of Austria was on his way to 
St. Cloud, to return Eugenie's call. So laborious 
are the ceremonies that court etiquette requires. 

For my part, I wondered with my companions if 
royalty had not more endurance than common people ; 
for the dazzling glitter of forty thousand bayonets 
had given me a shocking headache, and the difficulty 
of getting home through such a crowd was enough 
to try the patience of a campbell. 

French system alone could have accomplished the 
feat of bringing such a multitude safely through a 
pare into the streets of Paris. On the Champs 
Elysees were nine lines of carriages in continuous 
streams, from eleven in the morning till six o'clock in 
the evening ! On the next evening after the review 



EUGENIE AND THE PRINCESS MATHILDE. 7I 

it was announced that the two Emperors would 
attend the Opera Comique. The streets through 
which they passed were brilHantly illuminated, flags 
of both nations draping the balconies, the entrance to 
the theatre covered with green velvet drapery, orna- 
mented with golden bees. The house was crowded, 
the royal box elegantly draped with crimson velvet, 
and all the company on the stage in new costumes, 
Galii-Marie surpassed herself in '* Mignon," and the 
Emperors were forced to come forward in the box 
and acknowledge the vivas that rung through the 
house. 

The Empress was not present. On the next morn- 
ing, entering the gate of the Tuileries garden with a 
friend, the sudden appearance of two postilions startled 
us, and stepping back with alarm at our being nearly 
run over through heedlessness, we saw the Empress's 
carriage coming through the gate. 

Our position was embarrassing. We could not 
enter the Palace gardens in the face of the whole 
cortege, consisting of outriders, guards, and four car- 
riages, without appearing bold, and there was no 
chance for retreat without turning our backs on the 
Empress. ' Glancing in her face in perplexity, we 
were greeted with a smile and graceful bow that re- 
assured us instantly. This womanly delicacy, quick 
sympathy, and natural expression of it, inspired the 
French people with a familiar reverence for the Em- 
press that no other female sovereign seemed to enjoy. 
Her grace was to me irresistible. I could not meet 



72 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

her sadly conscious expression without an involun- 
tary prayer for her safety. 

I saw the Empress frequently, and my impression 
of her lovely, womanly graces never changed. 
While I scoffed at the vulgar curiosity and ignorant 
awe, usually displayed by visitors who examine every 
article of furniture in a palace as if it possessed some 
extraordinary merit, I permitted myself to fall into 
the same indulgence with regard to properties be- 
longing to the ill-fated Eugenie, just as I did those 
of Josephine and Marie Antoinette. When the guide 
pointed out at St. Cloud the magnificent white and 
gold bathing-chair, presented by Queen Victoria to 
Eugenie, the seasons Summer and Winter painted on 
opposite sides, — by whom, neither the guide nor Ga- 
lignani related, — I wondered if these mimic luxuries 
were not only sad reminders of sunny scenes and 
untrammelled enjoyments on the banks of certain 
Southern streams, where her school-days were passed. 
One of the schoolmates who shared those sports told 
me, with tears of emotion, of the gentleness of their 
favorite Eugenie, and of her wild untamable love of 
freedom ! 



CHAPTER VIII. 

PARIS ABOVE AND BELOW GROUND. 

IT has been ingeniously remarked that Paris is the 
whole world seen in samples. From this very 
fact arises the difficulty of knowing how much to say 
about it, when other cities are to be described in the 
same volume. Even the London Times confessed 
the superiority of Paris over London, in the com- 
plaint, " We want fitting receptacles for the treasures 
of art and science that are multiplying on our hands. 
Two or three millions of pounds would only place us on 
a par with Paris. This great, uncouth metropolis ! 
how much it wants done that living eyes will never 
see! Where are its grand palaces, its boulevards, 
its public gardens, and other ornaments ? " As we 
looked from the Dome of the Pantheon, we wondered 
not at the pride of the Frenchman, or the envy of 
the Englishman. After climbing four hundred and 
seventy-five steps, we saw before us Paris, truly the 
Queen of Cities ! 

At our feet were old convents, ruined palaces, 

grand old churches and crumbling monuments of 

history, that painters, sculptors, poets, dramatists, and 

novelists of all nations have dreamed over till inspi- 

4 iz 



74 A WOMAN S EXPERIENCES IN EUROPE. 

ration fired their thoughts and gave to the world pic- 
tures so true that when the actual scene presented 
itself, I for one exclaimed : *' I have seen it all before : 
it is the realization of most delightful dreams ! " One 
building alone, to do it justice, would occupy the 
space of an entire chapter. Take the old church of 
St. Etienne du Mont, originally a chapel for the 
vassals of the Abbey of Ste. Genevieve. Its date is 
1 121. Queen Marguerite de Valois laid the first 
stone of the portal, and it was finished in 1537. It 
represents a curious mixture of the Italian and Gothic 
styles of architecture. A square, steeple tower, a 
lofty, circular turret, flying buttresses, and gabled 
attics, gave it the appearance of a child's house built 
of blocks at random. But its contents ! The stained- 
glass windows, with their marvellous tracery' by 
Pinaiguir and Delaval ; works of art by De Santerre, 
Subeyras, Largilliere, and Detroy, Laitie, Brune, Coy- 
pel, and Lestoccard. The tombs of Rollin, Racine, 
P. Perrault, Lemaitre, Pascal, and Lesueur the painter, 
are there, and another, supposed to be the original 
tomb of Ste. Genevieve. This tomb is covered with 
gilt and network, and the altar near it gilded and 
painted gorgeously, and adorned with statues of 
twelve saints. In one of the side-chapels is an En- 
tombment of Christ in stone, surrounded by the i 
three Marys, Joseph of Arimathea, St. John, and 
another disciple, all life-size. The expression of 
anguish, anxiety, sympathy, hope, fear, and, lastly, 
that of the crucified Saviour, were so wonderfully 



II 



PARIS ABOVE AND BELOW GROUND. 75 

portrayed, that I found myself in the act of consoling 
the life-like group of mourners, when my own voice 
startled me into a realization that I was alone in the 
shadowy old church, and these images were only the 
conceptions of minds long since at rest, whose spirits 
seemed to hover near their works and oppress the 
beholder with a strange sympathy for their genius. 

But our view from the Pantheon ! On this side 
the glistening Seine are the old Cathedral of Notre 
Dame, at whose altar Napoleon First was crowned, 
and Napoleon Third was married — Victor Hugo has 
given even the very notes of its chimes ; the church 
of St. Sulpice, whose foundation-stone was laid by 
Anne of Austria; church of St. Germain des Pres; 
the old Hotel, or Palais de Cluny, a marvellous 
monument and museum of the olden times. On the 
other side of the river are the palaces of the present 
Emperor and the nobility of Paris, triumphal arches, 
columns, the magnificent church of the Madeleine, St. 
Augustine, and hundreds of others, any one of which 
would make six of our ordinary churches at home. 
There is not a stone of the Bastile left, but in its 
place is the column of July, one hundred and fifty- 
four feet high, and containing one hundred and sixty- 
three thousand two hundred and eighty-three pounds 
of metal. Under it are buried the remains of the 
victims of the insurrection of 1830. Descending 
from the dome, we entered the caves of the Pantheon, 
where monuments and funeral urns are arranged like 
the Roman tombs at Pompeii. In these vaults are 



76 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

cenotaphs to the memory of Rousseau and Voltaire. 
A marble statue of Voltaire, by Houdon, stands in 
the darkness, except when the lantern of a guide 
throws light on it for the visitor's momentary inspec- 
tion. Another strange anomaly is a stone hand, 
reaching out from the tomb of Rousseau a burning 
torch, meaning that Rousseau sheds light around 
him even in death; but that also is, like Voltaire, 
railed off in darkness from the Christian tombs. 

The Duke de Montebello, Lagrange, De Winter, 
Marshal Lannes, Mirabeau, were buried here. Murat 
was interred here, and afterwards taken and thrown 
into a sewer. Curious to know the effect on a soldier 
of the present age, I affected ignorance of the fate 
of Murat, and said to the guide, as we reached the 
last tomb, " Et Murat, Monsieur? " As briefly he re- 
plied, touching his cap, " Pas ici, Madame." But his 
tongue was from that moment tied ! The voluble 
guide was transformed to the submissive but reflec- 
tive soldier. Not till I laid in his hand a small fee 
did the stolid features relax; then a wistful look told 
me as plainly as words could say, "7/^ / dared^ I 
could speak I '^ 

The column Vendome, the Arc de I'Etoile, and a 
hundred other elevated points, afford magnificent 
views of Paris; but a hundred writers have de- 
scribed those views, so I betake me to an under- 
ground scene, to which every one who has read Les 
Miserables will accompany me with my own eager 
interest in the Sewers of Paris. Several months 



PARIS ABOVE AND BELOW GROUND. 77 

before we were admitted to the subterranean vaults of 
the city, our names were registered by the Chief of 
the Sewerage Department. At last the ticket of noti- 
fication came, and the information that we must be at 
the Place de la Madeleine, on the side of the Boule- 
vard Malesherbes, on the fifth of November, at one 
and a quarter o'clock precisely. Arriving, we found 
about twenty-four persons assembled around a tem- 
porary railing of iron that enclosed the opening to 
the sewers, two iron doors that lay flat on the pave- 
ment, just like our covers over the gas and water 
pipes in the streets of our own cities. These doors 
opened, a narrow spiral stairway was disclosed, and 
a ray of light from a lamp far down the dismal en- 
trance rather increased the gloom, than any attrac- 
tions the place might have. However, when the 
Chief, dressed in Government uniform, with the title 
of his office in gilt letters placed conspicuously on 
his hat, gave the signal, we started, single file, and in 
a moment were nearly blinded by a glare of light 
from rows of kerosene lamps in the hands of men 
who were to conduct us through the sewers. At the 
foot of about twenty-five steps, two large boats were 
waiting for us, and when my sight became manage- 
able, that was at first dazzled by the swinging lights 
reflected upon the water, the boat rocking as each 
one stepped on the side, I tried to realize that I was 
not entering a death-barge on the Styx, or a hearse 
gondola on the Via Mora, or funeral canal of Venice, 
by night. 



78 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

It was difficult to believe this finely arched subter- 
ranean tunnel, twelve feet broad, with a foot-path on 
either side, of solid rock, like the walls that lined it, 
was only a sewer. Along the vaulted ceiling, water- 
pipes, gas-pipes, two feet in diameter, were conducted, 
and telegraph wires by dozens suggested secret com- 
munications between palace and police quarters. 
From the centre of the arch, large lamps were sus- 
pended every five or six feet. Our party having 
seated themselves in two boats, there were twenty 
men in blue blouses and wooden sabots ready to seize 
the ropes when the command ^^ Avancez''' was given. 
Presently a fiint sound of a horn was heard, that 
grew louder as it was caught up and echoed from 
every angle of the sewers. Our Chief gave a shrill 
whistle, and the men started on a trot. On the sides 
of the walls, small white porcelain plates were in- 
serted, bearing in black letters the dates and heights 
of risings of the waters at different periods, some of 
them considerably above our heads, and suggestive 
of the horrors escaped by Jean Valjean, at the Place 
de la Bastile, at the time of the French Revolution. 
The names of the streets under which we passed, 
and the corners of the cross streets, were marked, so 
we could tell exactly our direction. Running down 
the main sewer of the Rue Royale to the Place de 
la Concorde, we found — what do you suppose? — a 
train of cars waiting for us! Six of the prettiest 
little cars I ever saw. They consisted of six plat- 
forms, about eight feet square, with brass railings, 



PARIS ABOVE AND BELOW GROUND. 79 

seats cushioned with red leather, no top to the cars ; 
and at each corner a brass lamp, with grained glass 
globes, formed a bright and beautiful finish to this 
fairy-like conveyance. The sewer was narrower here, 
and the wheels of the cars ran on brass rails laid on 
the edges of the foot-paths. Each car had an iron 
handle back and front, with a brass cross-piece, like 
those on our hose carriages at home. When the 
cars started, four men pulling and pushing each down 
the grade of the Rivoli sewer, the long vista of the 
illuminated vault, the regular clack of the sabots on 
the stone walk, water splashing into the side en- 
trances, either on stone steps to break the force, or 
inverted arches to prevent splashing of the main 
canal, the speed of our human locomotives, the ex- 
pression of delight and wonder on the faces of our 
party, strongly thrown out by the four foot-lights — 
all was so strange, and half pleasing, half frightful, 
that, like the rest, I waited with an ill-defined dread to 
see what the end would .be. After trotting a mile 
and a half, we were suddenly landed at a large iron 
gate, and so intense was the light there, that I went 
back to my first theory, and concluded we were at 
the gate of Dante's Inferno. But it was no such 
place ; we had arrived at the Place du Chatelet, and 
the light was the powerful sun of noonday, on the 
white embankment of the Seine, and opposite the 
two tall towers of the Palais de Justice, inviting us 
to come and see that we were in the world of 
reality, that there the beautiful Marie Antoinette 



80 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

suffered the tortures of imprisonment, and from there 
was released by death alone. The Conciergerie, or 
prison of the victims of the Revolution, was one of 
the places I knew by heart from description; but I 
would not have been satisfied if I had not myself 
passed through the Hall of Detention, looked at the 
row of cells just as they are set in the stage-scenes 
of "the Dead Heart," crept into the low doorway 
through which Marie Antoinette went bowed with 
grief and humility, touched the httle ebony crucifix 
that she clasped in the agony of her last wretched 
hour on earth, and gazed at the old paintings re- 
presenting two of the saddest scenes of her imprison- 
ment. I entered into this gloomy experience with a 
feeling of satisfaction, as an atonement for my enjoy- 
ment of those bright scenes at Versailles, where the 
unfortunate queen passed her happiest days, playing 
rural games in rural costumes, ordering a whole 
Swiss village to be built to carry out the pastoral 
illusion. I peeped into those cottage-windows where 
the furniture stands just as these royal children left 
it, and thought truly, with a bitter appreciation of 
the great Shakspeare's meaning, ''All the world's a 
stage, and all the men and women in it merely 
players ! " 



CHAPTER IX. 

M. EDWARD DELAVAN AND NAPOLEON III. 

npHE more one reflects on the French character, 
-L the more enigmatical it seems to become. There 
is in it a comical admixture of pride and principle, 
caution and candor, timidity and hardihood, reserve 
and audacity, that perplex the critic and baffle all at- 
tempts at analysis. It is dangerous to prophesy any- 
thing regarding the future of France. Historians 
have staked their reputation for justness in estimating 
her probable future, and have lost — time, demon- 
strating facts that to the most ingenious calculators 
were impossibilities. 

The cause of this variable fortune of a most unfor- 
tunate country need not remain a problem to the 
least reflective. France is a constant prey to the 
rapacity of the royal, imperial, and republican fac- 
tions at home, suffering, like her imperial rulers, a 
chronic disease of the intestines, — Rome calling for 
religious support, Ireland for political sympathy, 
America enticing her with her magnificent example 
of triumphant freedom, while England crosses the 
Channel, salutes the heir to the victim of Wellington's 
treachery, and demands steadfastness to the throne 
as the price of this condescending acknowledgment ! 




82 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

Sitting in the salon of Madame G.'s hotel, I have 
studied national character as Victor Hugo studied 
geography — with my eyes. Imagine twenty card- 
tables occupied by French, Swedish, Italian, Span- 
ish, German, English, Irish, and American players. 
The American card-player, almost always young, 
eager, irritable when beaten, exultant when success- 
ful. The Irish matron — (the Irish gentlemen are too 
old to play cards when they are willing to attend re- 
ceptions) — tearful when disappointed, sure of the 
next game ! English, astounded when beaten, not quite 
certain, but a little mistake of Signore Italio's would 
give him the right to declare the game drawn ! 
German, impassible countenance, but nervous in 
movement of hands ; the face saying conduct is fate, 
the fingers replying, fate is a stroke ! Spanish, wa;tch- 
ing for opportunities to sweep the stakes. Italian, 
enjoying the playing and anticipating his winnings. 
Swedish, grave in deportment, gentle in speech, de- 
termined to win. French, snapping the clasp of 
his card-purse with " Ah ! le bonheur ! " when vic- 
torious, counting the remaining francs with " quel 
dommage ! " when unfortunate ; and his woes having 
found utterance — expression is the only necessity a 
Frenchman acknowledges — his loss is apparently 
forgotten, and he turns to something else. 

With all my advantages of personal observation 
and daily dinner conversations, where editors, poli- 
ticians, and soldiers informed and contradicted each 
other, I found myself still questioning, but found no 



M. EDWARD DELAVAN AND NAPOLEON III. 83 

one to answer, To what end is all this lavish expen- 
diture of money, mind, and muscle on this splendid 
city of Paris? Is the Vatican to be simply the 
Musee de Rome ? Paris the seat of the Papal em- 
pire ? Napoleon the protector of the Pope, and his 
patrimony, war or no war ? At dinner, I dallied with 
my macaroni, mademoiselle unconsciously perform- 
ing the office of taster, while I waited for the maca- 
roni to cool, remembering Madame G. had an Italian 
chef Going to a favorable standpoint in my walks, 
I surveyed the broad avenues, with their shaded 
promenades, cooling fountains, ornamental flower- 
beds, historical monuments, tasteful statuary, palatial 
residences, and only repeated my question, " To what 
end is it all ? " The newspapers clamored about ex- 
travagance, oppression, outraged liberty of citizens ; 
Napoleon continued the work of improvement, the 
police their vigilance, the Frenchman his perpetual 
ecstasy over " Paris, la Reine des Villes ! " 

Memory echoed the sententious truth remarked by 
Victor Hugo, " France the slave of a man, and the 
mistress of the world ! " 

Granting his motives were above personal ambi- 
tion. Napoleon Third is the victim of a gigantic fail- 
ure, as Napoleon First was forced to succumb to a 
monstrous Fate. Till French eyes are accustomed to 
gold without gilding, Napoleon and the glory of 
France will be synonymous. 

His bust in marble and bronze, his portrait in oil and 
crayon, tapestry and Sevres painting, statues eques- 



84 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

trian, pedestrian and recumbent, medallions and basso- 
relievos, met the eye at every turn on every hand, and 
all men cried, " Napoleon is great, is handsome, is lib- 
eral," — but none dared ask, " To what end this hero- 
worship? " till her own ashes illustrated, in the ruin of 
Paris, the end of worldly ambition. At one time, 
men declared Napoleon Third was working only for 
the Church, to secure in Paris a High Altar, where 
future Popes should celebrate masses for the repose 
of — Napoleon ! I was refused admittance — the only 
refusal in all my Experiences in Europe — to see. the 
Bambino in Rome, by an Italian priest, because a 
brother whispered to him, " elle est Frangaise I " For 
this act of Christian courtesy, a Spanish Catholic said 
to the priest, " I hope when you get to the gate of 
heaven, St. Peter will take you for a Frenchman ! " 
The next day, I found my Spanish friend with a sore 
throat, and in tears. To my inquiries she replied, " It 
is the Bambino's punishment for my contempt of the 
priest." " More likely it is the effect of eating too 
much sharp cheese at lunch with the voracious appe- 
tite your rage induced," I replied. A hearty laugh 
dispelled her vapors, and a sound Protestant drub- 
bing convinced her that the Bambino was nothing 
but a dirty-faced wooden baby ! Should the drama 
ever return to its original use, I shall write a Franco- 
Italian comedy, with a Spanish heroine. 

The highest gratification to an annotator on people 
and principles is the approval of critics, who find in 
his remarks neither useless hostility nor unmerited 



M. EDWARD DELAVAN AND NAPOLEON III. 85 

eulogy. It has been my habit to shade my Hght 
with a transparency representing St. John suspending 
his pen over the inkstand, while the dove of inspira- 
tion delivered its heavenly message. Alas ! a heavy 
gale of wind upset my lamp and smashed St. John. 
So for the future I must depend on my own fallible 
resolves for the desired moderation in expressing my 
views, and I beg the reader will attribute any extrava- 
gance he may detect in these pages to an irresistible 
gale of inspiration. 

For a while let us have done with politics and reli- 
gions, and enjoy what is laughable in Paris. Our 
guide shall be the honored veteran in the Temperance 
cause, M. Edward Delavan, whose life was devoted 
to benevolent objects. In his death, he has verified 
the high aims of his noble life. He bequeaths to 
the world, men, women, and children imbued with 
heroic principles of self-denial and incessant desire 
for human progress. I would inscribe on his monu- 
ment, — One of the World's Heroes — Resting 
ONLY when his Work IS DoNE. Napolcon Third 
stood face to face with this American gentleman, and 
respectfully admitted his charges of intemperance 
against France, pleading the necessity of the French 
for stimulants as a mitigating circumstance. 

His dignified demeanor, benevolent countenance, 
his hair white as snow, and silvered with a mellowed 
lustre that peaceful old age exhibits, awed the most 
determined opponent of Mr. Delavan into at least a 
respectful attention. 



86 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

To his choice of myself as an occasional compan- 
ion for his leisure hours, and a means of transmitting, 
through my correspondence, the results of his visit 
to France, I revert with pride as well as pleasure ; and 
while I laugh over sunny memories of my venerable 
friend, my eyes are suffused with tears of selfish re- 
gret that his parting words to me in Paris — which 
he predicted would be the last — were indeed the 
last. 

One morning, while an inmate of the Hotel Royale, 
I was looking out of my window at the muddy 
streets, and comparing their gray plastery appearance 
to escaped mortar-beds, when I beheld Mr. Delavan 
struggling through mud, and a labyrinth of carts and 
carriages, towards the hotel. In a moment I joined 
him in the salon, and in a moment more started with 
him, in high glee, to join his wife and daughter in a 
visit to an American eating-saloon, where I was to 
enjoy for the first time since I left America, buck- 
wheat cakes, sausages, pumpkin-pie, and fried mush ! 
Mrs. Delavan and her daughter met us at Monroe's 
on the Rue Scribe, and we all set off for the saloon 
in a direction diametrically opposite the one we should 
have taken. After walking as a stranger does in 
Boston, ''round and round till he comes back to the 
place he started from," we started over again, and in 
a little while arrived at a small white house with a 
very large bulk window, in which was the following 
astounding sign: 



M. EDWARD DELAVAN AND NAPOLEON III. 8/ 



40, Rue G-de-M. 40. 

AMERICAIN TAVERNE. 



ifi 0B 

SPECIALITY AM^RICAINE. 
English Spoken e Little. 



Entering "the tavern," (!) we found ourselves in a 
room about twenty feet square, with whitewashed 
walls, the windows curtained with white plaid muslin, 
floor covered with white sand, tables with white 
cloths, and on white wooden brackets were white 
plaster casts of Bucks County Washingtons — a pair 
— a healthy Lincoln, a venerable General McClellan, 
and a juvenile General Jackson! My mind at once 
associated with this whiteness Charles Dickens's de- 
scription of Marseilles, in the opening page of little 
Dorrit, and as I never read that page without feeling 
my eyes water with the horrid glare, I fortunately 
had the same excuse for applying my handkerchief 
to my eyes, when madame, "the tavern-keeper," en- 
tered by a door opposite the street-door. Permit me 
to relate the scene verbatim. 

"Bon jour — Mesdame, Monsieur, vot vill you hev 
s'il vous plait?" 

Mr. D. — Madame, we are all hungry, and would 



88 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

like a real good American breakfast, as soon as you 
can have it ready. 

Madame. — Ah, oui, monsieur, I un-der-stand you 
— are — all — hungry, an' you like American break- 
fasts. You wish not cafe-au-lait, n'est ce pas ? 

A general consultation resulted in a choice of tea, 
black coffee, milk, and chocolate. 

" Ah, oui, monsieur, I understand ; madame would 
have chocalette, madame (bobbing her head in my 
direction, to distinguish the madames) would have 
cafe au lait, mademoiselle meelk, et monsieur du 
the!'' 

" Precisely, madame ; and buckwheat - cakes, sau- 
sages, fried mush, pumpkin-pie, and all the etceteras ; 
but very soon — soon as possible, please." 

We were all seated, and Frangois, radiant in shiny 
blue livery with silver buttons, was flourishing the 
napkins and scraping his restless feet on the sanded 
floor, till he put my teeth, as madame did my nerves, 
all on edge, and I hoped the conference was ended, 
when the irrepressible volubility of madame broke 
out afresh ; and I concluded we might as well resign 
ourselves to hunger and patience, till madame had 
gained a lesson in English^ in addition to other 
little " commissions " which, in France, are entirely 
en regie. 

" Ah, oui, monsieur, I understand ; you vill hev-a 
die buckweat cake-a, die saussages-a, die fe-ried 
moosh-a, die poomp-a-kin pie-a, and — and — Fran- 
5ois! pourquoi you are so long! vite! vite ! Mon- 



1 



M. EDWARD DELAVAN AND NAPOLEON III. 89 

sieur et les dames air Hungary ! Make-a die break- 
fast Americaine toute-de-suite ! " Then politely back- 
ing out the door, with a coquettish courtesy, " Excusez 
moi, mesdames, mais I speak, a die English only e 
leetle ! " 

" She manages to say all she wants, and takes long 
enough, too," our leader grumbled ; and it was the 
cue for a laugh that helped our appetites wonder- 
fully. 

The dishes were delightful, and one might easily 
imagine himself at an American tavern in Pennsylvania 
while enjoying the delicious cooking of Madame 
B . 

It was a " specialite Americaine " that I heartily 
recommend to all travellers who may be surfeited with 
Parisian delicacies. 

The intercourse between France and America re- 
ceived an impetus from the Exposition of 1 867, that 
was substantially beneficial to France, and more in- 
jurious to the interests of England than that self-suf- 
ficient kingdom supposed possible, until French and 
German steamers carrying crowds of " Yankees " 
with Yankee purses^ past the cold, white cliffs to the 
sunny " land of the vine," lessened considerably the 
revenues derived from " American extravagance " and 
*' shoddyism." 

To the French, I repeat, the Yankee influx was a 
material benefit — but to the Americans ? I scarcely 
know which to proclaim with more emphasis. My 
proud admiration of the matchless adaptability of the 



90 A WOMAN S EXPERIENCES IN EUROPE. 

American people to the various requirements of 
European court etiquette, and the graceful, generous 
freedom of their participation in out-door amuse- 
ments, unknown in America. I scarcely know 
whether I am more proud of this genial quality in 
the American character, or more indignant at their 
readiness to adopt the pernicious customs of a nation 
that would prefer to have its liberty of self-govern- 
ment, self-development, and personal conscience lim- 
ited, than assume the exercise of principles demanded 
of a free, religious, and moral people. 

French ballet, French opera, French novels and 
wine are not for Americans. The French are no more 
inflammable than the Americans, but they are all the 
time inflamed with wine. Their ship of state floats 
on envious seas, and her wreck will be repeated till 
the captain, officers, mates, and crew dispense with 
their excessive drinking. 

To this proposition made by Mr. Delavan to Napo- 
leon III., the latter replied: " I feel the force of your 
remark, monsieur, and under God I trust the French 
people will be educated to your idea ; but / kiiow my 
people — tliey dislike urging. One must give them 
their own time. The future of France will prove she 
is worthy of the kind interest manifested by the intel- 
ligent class whom you represent." 

A man cherishing such sentiments is, to my mind, 
the best President that France can find for a progres- 
sive republic. Her own conduct will determine the 
policy or necessity for another coup d'etat. The 



I 



/ M. EDWARD DELAVAN AND NAPOLEON III. QI 

day approaches for the fulfilment of that great pre- 
diction of the great Napoleon. An Universal In- 
ternational Republican Government! And what 
power is effecting this rapid march of events ? 
Electricity. 

In Germany, we see a grand religious convocation, 
where Romanist and Protestant, Calvinist and Lu- 
theran, Jew and Armenian, join hands and hearts in 
the one supplication, " Thy will be done ; " so bridg- 
ing all schisms, and recognizing but one bond, the 
bond of Christian fellowship. 

One thread of metallic fire, through three thou- 
sand miles of ocean breakers, links continent with 
continent, and our woes and our joys electrify the 
sympathetic heart of England as readily as that of 
Cincinnati when Chicago is in flames. Before the 
fires are extinguished, the cry of alarm has been 
heard in Moscow, and Russia offers her condolence. 
The Khedive of Egypt gives the right of suffrage to 
his people, educates and unveils the women. The 
Queen of England marries a Princess to a subject. 
Rome is restored to her former glory as the capital 
of Italy. Women are employed as teachers of women's 
offspring in America, and careering Miss Gilberts 
are multiplying in numbers and improving in quality, 
just as the Mr. Gilberts do, by self-education and 
indomitable will. When differences of nations, indi- 
viduals, sexes, religions, politics, customs, — when all 
prejudices are overruled by a general recognition of 
universal progress, what remains ? The millennium. 



92 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

I expect shortly to approach the Hon without fear ; 
not from any inherent lamb-Hke quahties, but by 
virtue of that electrical power above alluded to. But 
I risk misinterpretation in this mingling of serious 
conviction and mere badinage, so I will return to Ij 
my first intention, and relate instances of dissipation 
in the French capital, to intolerable excess. 



CHAPTER X. 

MID-LENT AMUSEMENTS IN PARIS. 

NEVER did Folly reign more supremely than 
at the mi-caremey or mid-lent, in Paris, when 
the restraint of the vows of all abstinence was thrown 
off for a day, and a respite was granted the devout 
from fasting on the most delicious fish, salads, ome- 
lettes, and pates that mortal taste could suggest. All 
day long soldiers paraded the streets, and blanchis- 
seuses, whose especial holiday it was, dressed in their 
best, many in beautiful spring costumes, crowded the 
boulevards. Champs Elysees, and the Tuileries, where 
the Emperor and the Prince Imperial reviewed a part 
of the troops, while the Empress looked on from the 
windows of her apartment in the palace. Wagons, 
chariots, and triumphal cars, with even the wheels 
i bound and decorated with wreaths of flowers, were 
i loaded with men and women, in costumes decent 
; and indecent, who made all sorts of gestures and 
s sounds, like the ancients in their heathenish orgies. 

How the day ended, shade of George Wash- 
i ington, reveal to American incredulity! No one 
: else would be believed. With a party of Ameri- 
cans who were advised to see this phase of life in 

93 



94- A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

the empire thoroughly, I went in domino and 
masque to the grand Opera-House at rnidnight. The 
street all around the house was brilliantly illuminated, 
and the greedy eyes of the crowd who had been un- 
able to secure admittance glared at us from under 
their cap frills and hat rims in a startling manner. 

The reader will please bear in mind that we were 
not hunting out vice in any obscure den, where one 
could expect to find nothing but disorder and licen- 
tious behavior, but at the Imperial Opera-House, with f 
Imperial guards to protect the revellers from interrup- 
tion. Going up the grand stairway through files of 
guards who peered in vain at our Venetian masks, 
that concealed every feature from recognition, we were 
soon safely lodged in a box, our door locked on the 
inside, and — our eyes fastened with horror on' the 
scene in the ball-room. Strauss, with one hundred 
and fifty musicians, made the heavy perfumed air 
quiver with melody. Birds sang from their gilded 
cages ; light, intense, dazzling light, blazed on the 
magnificent costumes, that were so packed and 
jammed into that whirling, maddened, intoxicated 
crowd of dancers, that one grew dizzy in the attempt 
to distinguish them. But, oh ! woman, with every 
trace of womanly delicacy and beauty obliterated by 
sin, was there. Man, without one ray of man's honor, 
dignity, or humanity, was there. Women from the 
Jardin Mobille, students from the Pradier, mingled 
without restraint, with numbers of innocent but igno- 
rant revellers. 



MID-LENT AMUSEMENTS IN PARIS. 95 

I dare not present to American readers a faithful 
description of that whirl of human pollution, and the 
instances we witnessed of individuals drawn into the 
maddening vortex of intoxication, till all sense of 
modesty or personal respect seemed lost. Speechless 
and sick at heart, our party left the Opera House, and 
I have but one thought to compensate me for the 
pain of witnessing that and tv/o other similar scenes 
of Parisian life. 1 have been the means of prevent- 
ing two American mothers from sending their sons 
alone to Paris, to enter the Latin Quarter and attend 
college. To both I made but one answer : " I would 
as soon give a son of mine a passport to Gehenna ! " 

I saw Schneider in the Grande Duchesse; and I saw 
Schneider in the Bois de Boulogne, driving a mag- 
nificent pair of bays, in splendid harness, mounted 
with gold, and engraved with the monogram of — 
hide your face, dear reader — "an American noodle!" 
It was the only name I heard for him in Paris, and I 
had no interest in inquiring to what American family 
he belonged. I saw him sitting on his horse at the 
curb on the Champs Elysees, while Schneider stood 
talking with him, and snapping his riding-whip. She 
was attracting the attention of French riders passing 
along, to this "impolite American," — showing him 
up while he sat like an idiot priding himself on his 
triumph ! Had he been a Frenchman, he would have 
dismounted, even to speak to a fallen woman, and 
so have avoided the scoffs of those whose applause 
he imagined he was winning. 



96 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

Two American women, reputable at home, were 
noted in Paris for following the Emperor's carriage 
on the "grande promenade." Their father was very 
wealthy, and very indulgent, — poor creatures! 

Let us consider more agreeable topics. . Though I 
should not feel that I had done my duty entirely, had j 
I left my last remarks unsaid. To the wise a word 
is sufficient. 

I saw Neillson in Hamlet at the Grand Opera, as 
she performed it two hundred nights. The perform- 
ance was very French, Opened with a ballet and 
concluded with Hamlet's penitence for killing every- 
body belonging to him, and then proclaiming him- 
self king. " Mon ame est dans la tombe, Helas ! Et 
je suis Roi ! " 

Horatio et Marcellus, tirant Vepke. 

Vive Hamlet! . . . 
Seigneurs et Soldats 

Vive Hamlet! 
Tout le Chceur 

Vive Hamlet, notre roi! 
Fin! 
I saw Genevieve de Brabant at the Menus- 
Plaisirs. It was exceedingly funny in French hands; 
we nearly died over the extravagant burlesque of 
Charles Martel, and the ^^ original honimes d'armes ;'' 
but it was, taking it as a whole, unchaste and offen- 
bachish in the abandon of sentiment and musical ex- 
pression. 

Cendrillon, at the Chatelet, dazzled our eyes, and 



MID-LENT AMUSEMENTS IN PARIS. 9/ 

rouged our cheeks ; and on the way home we were 
drenched with rain — and knew we deserved it, for 
going. 

La Madone des Roses, at the Gaite, exceeded 
everything in the way of spectacular display and 
mechanical effect, that I ever beheld outside of 
Vienna. The second tableau, the Rose Garden, 
would have been considered a fair representation of 
Moore's Vale of Cashmere. The Banquet Hall, and 
its draped poetic ballet, Byron would have described 
with ecstasy. The last tableau, "the Fire," caused 
our party to insure their lives by gaining the box- 
door, and when we left the theatre the stage was one 
heap of blackened, smoking timbers, that we had 
seen falling in full flame, glass, furniture, and splendid 
appointments mingled with the wreck ! I forget the 
cost of this last nightly destruction, but the manage- 
ment evidently thought it paid, from the long run of 
the play. At the Opera Comique, Marie Cabal, in 
"Le Premier Jour de Bonheur," and Gali Marie, as 
Mignon, were keeping opposition parties in an alter- 
nation' of transports. Who can understand the 
meaning of pleasure as well as a Frenchman? A 
spacious box or stall, toilette plain or elaborate, with- 
out bonnet " absolument ; " a half-hour's recreation 
during the entre-act ; visiting and receiving friends in 
the theatre, or promenading in the foyer, taking re- 
freshments there leisurely, or ordering them to your 
box; women and girls promenading as independent 
of male escort as in their own parlors; women in 
5 



98 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

attendance at the box-doors — never men — and sup- 
plying every one with a tiny foot-stool for the small 
consideration of one sous ; all these Parisian ways of 
enjoyment unfit one for the serious business we make 
of it in America. A Frenchman packed in one of 
our opera-houses or theatres, from eight o'clock till 
midnight, would claim damages of the administra- 
tion. I had a seat engaged six weeks in advance, at 
the Frangais, for " Paul Forestier," in the performance 
of which I was promised the best acting, the best 
French conversation, accent, inflection, gesticulation, 
and the finest exhibition of toilette for the drawing- 
room in the world. The promises were all fulfilled. 
The house was full, not packed a I'Americaine, for 
there are thirteen hundred seats, and no one but an 
Imperial guard is permitted to stand during the per- 
formance. 

Monsieur Emile Augier, the author of the play, had 
cause for self-congratulation, certainly. There was 
no orchestra. Between the acts no one was willing 
to leave his place, and the management considerately 
ran the performance straight on, with scarcely more 
interruption between the acts than one has in the 
blank space between chapter and chapter of an ab- 
sorbing novel ! Favart and Lafontaine were dressed 
in the most simple toilettes, with the exquisite taste 
of Parisian women at home. I despair of being com- 
prehended in New York in that last remark. It will 
be understood in Washington. The acting ! A neigh- 
bor said, " It is n't acting at all, one might as well be 



MID-LENT AMUSEMENTS IN PARIS. 99 

in a parlor ; I wish it was more like the the-^-tre ! " 
To the first part of her sentence I agreed, for I felt as 
if I had become an uninvited witness at a family- 
broil that was too sacred for intrusion of any sort. 

And when the climax was reached in the plot, 
men crying all around me, red silk pocket-handker- 
chiefs drying one eye while the other was filling up 
afresh at the affecting scene, noses trumpeting a per- 
fect overture all over the house, I was seized with a 
perverse and irresistible desire to laugh, and during 
a storm of bravos and cheers, I made a screen of my 
fan, and screamed with laughter, that even my next 
neighbor did not hear in that uproar of enthusiasm. 

I repeated that entertainment twice. In the theatres 
and churches I gained most French. A book might 
be filled with descriptions of visits to other theatres, — 
there were thirty-six in full swing during my resi- 
dence in Paris, — cafe concerts, promenade concerts, 
and an endless list of amusements ; but I will give only 
one more in Paris — The Italiens^ where our own Patti 
held the Parisians under a spell of enchantment. And 
while Patti reigned so triumphantly, the star of Ros- 
sini was fading forever. Only in the deeper pathos 
of her voice could his pupil's grief be detected. Who 
that was present at The Italiens on the fatal evening 
will ever forget the thrilling effect ! 

The Queen of Spain, the Prince and Princess of 
Wales, royal guests and their suites, filled the boxes ; 
diamonds glittered in coronets, in necklaces, brace- 
lets, brooches, and rings, as plentifully as the dew- 



100 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

drops on the tapis vert at Versailles on an August 
morning. The darling and pride of the old king of 
musicians was pouring out her richest notes, mellowed 
more than usual by the oppression of consciousness 
that her master was ill and suffering. A message 
was whispered from box to box, chilling each heart 
with its dread import. 

" Rossini est mort ! " " Rossini is dead ! " In the 
green-room, through the orchestra, every ear received 
the message but one. Patti, the child of song, was 
spared ; and her notes still poured forth in mournful 
cadences, falling on the hearts of the shuddering audi- 
ence like a requiem. 

If the departing spirit paused to hear the sweet 
voice interpreting his own inspired notes, I doubt if 
the heavenly messengers who attended his reluctant 
flight chided him ungently. 

Rossini was not a Roman Catholic, but, to gratify 
his wife, consented to have a priest from the Made- 
leine to grant him absolution. He was particular in 
directing which priest should attend. Entering his 
room, the priest asked, " Why do you prefer me, my 
son ? " 

" I like your voice," was the musician's reply. 

We were fortunate in gaining admission to the 
concert at the Salle de Conservatoire, where outsiders 
like ourselves were rarely present. Every performer 
was a professional composer and past middle age. I 
appreciated the wonderful execution, the movements 
so perfect, each instrument marking such precise time, 



MID-LENT AMUSEMENTS IN PARIS. lOI 

each note so exquisitely clear, and all so united in 
harmony, that it seemed as if one power of genius 
impelled every hand of these hundred masters, to 
call forth wails of passionate utterance such as I 
never heard expressed in music before. But the ten- 
sion of mind and nerve such musical studies cause, 
leave one wearied and ready to fly to Strauss or even 
Offenbach for relief No slight intended for Theo- 
dore Thomas. 

I think the most absurd festivity in Paris, during 
my visit, was Lord Lyon's ball at the Grand Hotel. 

Besides H. E. L. L. G. C. B., there were other capital 
patrons and patronesses such as H. R. H. the P. M. 
D. of H.; H. E. Mme. la M. C.; H. G. the D. of 
B. The L. G. of G. Dukes, Marquises, Lords, 
Honorables, Colonels, Captains, Esquires, and M. 
D.'s, enough to make a pate de fois gras of an Eng- 
lish novelist's heart. The decorations of the ball- 
room were grand, the music fine; only just in the 
midst of a fine galop, in walked the English patron 
and suite. Of course they did n't know of the galop, 
or they might have had ''better menners/' ?ir\d presto/ 
the dancers were statues, the music " God Save the 
Queen," and the patrons and patronesses were 
Chinese Mandarins and Mandarinesses bowing up 
and down at the risk of their necks. 

Diamonds were at a discount, Fifth Avenue taking 
the lead to the disgust of their step-sisters from 
across the Channel. Only one lady broke her arm 
from slipping on the wax floor, and another fainted 



102 A woman's experiences IN EUROPE. 

at the " snap of the bone ! " I can't say whether or 
not the other ladies had bones in their arms, for the 
white kids with ten buttons up to where the elbows 
ought to be, and the angel sleeves beginning to float 
where the kid stopped, made it a matter of impossi- 
bility to see what the arms were composed of, though 
the red coats of the British and blue coats of the 
French officers threw out in fine relief these graceful 
clasps in the round dances. I am happy to remark 
that no female relative of mine was in the dances. I 
expressed my sentiments pretty freely to my kind 
hostess Miss E., who smiled at my prudery ; but for- 
tunately for me, the Boston dip was not yet invented, 
and she could not make any retort. Far more enjoy- 
able than these assemblages of silly women and 
pompous men — for the time being — were the fetes 
of the villagers in the rural districts. 

Receiving a cordial invitation from Mrs. Howard 
Helmick to visit her at Ecouen, with a promise that I 
should see her husband's paintings for the Spring Ex- 
position, and attend the fete besides, I started on one 
of my solitary rambles through Paris, in search of the 
chemin-de-fer, for Villiers-le-Belle. When I thought 
I had been gone long enough to find it, I inquired, in 
"high YrQVich.,^' pourriez-vous inHndiquez of a lady 
passing. Replying ^' sans derange z-vous^' madame, 
etc., she pointed out the way " tout droite," and with- 
out mentioning that I was already suspected of being 
deranged, I thanked the lady, and soon the depot was 
sure enough " en face." Will the reader please ob- 



MID-LENT AMUSEMENTS IN PARIS. IO3 

serve, I contrive to get all the French in the above 
sentence like the best authorized school-books and 
travellers' guides? 

Of course the train was crowded, and of course I, 
being an American, and money no object, took a 
place in a first-class car. The whole way from Paris to 
Villiers-le-Belle presented a series of groves, gardens, 
and grain-fields, in the loveliest May dress ; and peas- 
ants, in costumes of the brightest colors, resting in 
the most picturesque attitudes, to gaze after the flying 
train, completed one of those scenes that seemed to 
belong only to picture galleries, to one who had never 
before crossed the ocean and visited the old v/orld. 

Reaching the station of Villiers-le-Belle, I hurried 
with the crowd to secure a place in the diligence for 
Ecouen, and after the mashing of toes and '^ par-r-r- 
donSj Mesdames, Messieurs," were over, we started at 
a break-neck rate through as beautiful a district of 
country as could be found anywhere in the world. 
The rich green foliage of wild chestnut-trees mingled 
with more delicate tints of the drooping-willows, old 
oaks, sturdy centurions that have witnessed the re- 
turn of as many seasons as there are dead kings and 
princes lying in the vaults of Saint Denis in the dis- 
tance; the odor of sweet violets, tuberoses, migno- 
nettes, and lilies-of-the-valley, that grow wild on the 
roadside ; the singing of birds ; the sweet voices of 
joyous children, in white dresses and gay ribbons, 
hasting to the fete ; peasant boys -in blue blouses and 
hob-nailed boots ; young girls with caps frilled, and 



I04 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

skirts bordered with stripes of every hue, displaying 
bright-colored stockings, and feet encased in pretty 
laced boots ; the hamlets overgrown with ivy, and at 
the entrance to every street of the village, at the top 
of every hill, and on both sides of each entrance to 
the woods where the fete was celebrated, painted May- 
poles, with the French colors flying from them, in 
red, white, and blue streamers, made a charming scene, 
and excited most agreeable emotions after a surfeit 
of city dissipation. Arriving at the diligence station 
at Ecouen, the driver, on his high box in front of the 
stage, touched a spring under his foot, the door flew 
open, and as we all scrambled out, he blew a tre- 
mendous blast on a large horn that called out the 
shop-keepers and servants of gentlemen who had 
commissioned him to bring parcels and boxes from 
Paris. 

Following a long double line of school-boys, French 
gentlemen's sons, in dress coats and beavers, like lit- 
tle men cut down, and a great wagon loaded with 
every utensil for household and farm use, so skilfully 
arranged as to display the wares most tempting to 
housekeepers and farmers, without concealing the in- 
credible amount of things piled on one wagon, like a 
caravan shop, I reached the cottage occupied by Mr. 
Helmick. 

Mrs. H. and the baby and bonne were already at 
the door to meet me, when, just as I arrived, up came 
Mr. Helmick to announce the beginning of the fete 
with a triumphant entrance of the peasants of adjoin- 



MID-LENT AMUSEMENTS IN PARIS. IO5 

ing villages into the town of Ecouen, where they were 
greeted with welcoming cheers, flags flying from May- 
poles, peasants decked in holiday finery, and village 
bands, followed by the usual crowd of curious and 
eager boys, who had no eyes for anything but the 
little son of the drum-major, whose uniform and per- 
formance on a tin fife excited more admiration than 
the harmony of Strauss's band could possibly have 
done. Of course we joined the crowd, and followed 
over cobble-stones, up hilly streets, along by the ruined 
walls of tumble-down cottages, into a wood as beauti- 
ful as the oldest of old trees, covered with the green- 
est of green foliage, could be. Right in the heart of 
this old forest was a square of about four acres, en- 
tirely cleared of trees, for the express purpose of ac- 
commodating the revellers in these yearly fetes. At 
the upper end was a large square tent, open on the 
inner side, and shaded by a white scalloped canopy, 
edged with red, a French flag crowning the pointed 
top. This was the evening ball-room. Crimson 
divans ran all around it for the mammas, who, accord- 
ing to European ideas, are considered first in fete or 
celebration of any sort. In this one matter young 
America might profit by a little instruction, though 
the extremes of Old World notions regarding etiquette 
could not and should not be carried out in an enlight- 
ened Republic. 

These peasant mothers of Ecouen attended their 
daughters to the fete, followed them everywhere, and 
sat beside them in the ball-room ; and if they con- 



I06 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

sented to their dancing, the moment the dance was 
concluded, received them from the thankful jeune 
homme, who left immediately, with a request to renew 
the pleasure some time during the evening. 

On the side of the square opposite the ball-room 
was a circular tent, with saddled horses and swinging 
chairs, revolving on a central pole, turned by a crank 
in the hands of a man who seemed boneless and 
nerveless. He turned that crank all day, with its 
twenty vehicles all the time occupied by men, women, 
and children, five times round the circle for two sous. 
A hand-organ lent a charm to this performance, and I 
think the boy who worked it was a son of the man 
who turned the other crank. On either side of this 
hollow square were the usual startling pictures of all 
sorts of impossible reptiles, venomous before their 
sting was extracted, wound in multitudinous folds 
around the rigid bodies of fearless infants ; and huge 
placards informing the staring crowd that they had 
better embrace this rare opportunity to see a phe- 
nomenon that was unprecedented in the annals of 
France ! 

In the centre of all was the attraction. Seating 
ourselves on one of the rush - bottomed chairs ar- 
ranged within the square, we were prepared to 
watch the games of the peasants, that were to be 
followed by rewards to the successful competitors. 
The Mayor of the town conducted the games and 
decided disputes ; while his lady sat in a circle of ad- 
miring friends (what Lady Mayoress has n't friends ?) 



MID-LENT AMUSEMENTS IN PARIS. 10/ 

and held the prizes. First, a frame, with five or 
six cords stretched over it, was placed on end, in 
the enclosure of people. The village girls stood in 
line, side by side, on a board opposite, about twenty- 
steps from the frame. Then a large plaster-of-paris 
head and neck, with eyes the size of a teacup, only 
painted, not cut out, was placed over the head and 
face, resting on the shoulders of number one. A 
pair of scissors was placed in her hands, and, open- 
ing them, to my amazement she walked straight up 
to the frame, and with one snap of the scissors cut 
the centre cord. Amid a shout of applause the mask 
was removed, and the blushing girl informed she had 
won the first prize — a gold chain and cross ! To 
show that the task was no easy one, no less than 
fifty-four attempts were made to win the second prize, 
when number one was permitted to try again, and failed 
only by one step to the left of the* frame, while others 
had gone in all sorts of zigzag directions, not being 
accustomed to walking blindfolded, and agitated no 
doubt by the shouts of " a droite ! a droite ! " " an 
gauche ! " " coupe I" of the interested fathers and 
brothers looking on. The second prize was given 
to the girl who walked straight, but brought the 
scissors between and not over the cord. It was a 
silver chain and cross of Genoese workmanship. The 
ground was cleared for the boys' game; and of all ludi- 
crous sights, it exceeded. Poor Pillicoddy would have 
paused in his " solemn determination to eat poppy 
leaves and die," to laugh ! A frame with heavy posts 



I08 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

was planted firmly in the ground, with a revolving 
shelf across the top, connected with short cords to a 
rope fastened at either end to the posts. On the 
shelf a bowl of water stood directly in the centre ; 
suspended from it was a pipe with a bright red handle. 
The feat to be accomplished was to raise the body by 
the rope, bringing the mouth on a level with the pipe, 
and seize the pipe between the teeth. Number one 
took off his hat, smoothed the skirt of his blue cot- 
ton blouse, put his hair carefully behind his ears, and 
cautiously took the rope in his hands. Raising him- 
self gradually and steadily, the shelf turned slowly, 
till the basin of water over his head was on a slant 
perilous to behold. " Prenez garde ! " shouted the 
crowd. Down he came instantly, the basin righting 
itself as soon. Another balance was tried; the 
crowd became enthusiastic, certain he would succeed. 
A momentary forgetfulness, a sudden spring at the 
pipe, and my gentleman dropped from the rope, 
drenched with the contents of the overturned basin, 
his sheepish face half covered with wet locks, and his 
blouse dripping with water, — an irresistibly comic 
spectacle for the overjoyed crowd. This was re- 
peated sixty-eight times, when a rough shepherd-boy, 
a natural gymnast, ran up, and fixing his eyes on the 
shelf, raised and lowered himself twenty times with- 
out touching the ground, finally balanced himself just 
to the line, and brought down the pipe in his mouth, 
leaving the water undisturbed in the bowl. A mo- 
ment after he received a silver watch from the " Lady 



__ MID-LENT AMUSEMENTS IN PARIS. IO9 

Mayoress," and was followed about as if he had led 
the Abyssinian Expedition. In this strain the games 
were continued till time for the ball, and we were 
about to return to Mr. Helmick's when we were in- 
vited to join a party, headed by the Mayor, and attend 
a dramatic entertainment in a little wood near by. 
Before we could distinguish anything through the 
blaze of pine torches in the wood, the terrific noise 
of an immense drum assailed our ears, and soon a 
dazzling spectacle burst upon our sight. A whole 
family of Brazilians, dressed in spangled silks and 
gauzes, marched up and down a platform, relating to 
the gaping peasants the astounding feats nightly per- 
formed by the company; and so eager were all to 
gain ingress to the tent, that it required all the Mayor's 
authority to manage an entrance for us. We monopo- 
lized the parquette, — the benches were planks resting 
on grape-boxes and covered with carpet. I have seen 
many worse performances in first-class theatres than 
we witnessed at that rustic play-house ; and many 
stock actors might profit from lessons of those really 
wonderful Brazilian mimics. 

In that we were agreeably disappointed, and pur 
host the kind-hearted major took a sly smile occa- 
sionally at our surprise. What a supper we took 
that night ! And how we slept ! The memory of 
that one day's experience of the merry-makings in 
provincial France will lend sunshine to the most 
shadowy years of my future. I trust it has afforded 
you one gleam, dear Reader. 



CHAPTER XL 

woman's work in FRANCE. 



i 



SINCE work has become honorable employment 
for the women of America, I may be certain 
that three-fourths of my feminine readers will be in- 
terested in a few glances at the working- women of 
France. In one respect the Americans are far behind 
the French. They have not all learned as yet to 
dignify labor. The great obstacle in the way of our 
attaining that point in progress, is the purse-pride for 
which we are justly renowned all over the world. 
There is no use in denying it. The moment a " mer- 
chant-prince " realizes he is a merchant -prince, his 
sign comes down, a larger one goes up with a suc- 
cessor's name, and the heirs of the original firm are 
apprenticed to Fashion and Dissipation. Not so in 
England, France, or Germany. The birthday of the 
firm is hailed with as much pride in the old country 
as the coming of age here of Young America. " Es- 
tablished 1611," is added to the sign in golden letters 
there ; " retired from business," is blazed in all the 
journals here. But there are jewellers, dry-goods 
houses, and others, setting a good example in the New 

World by following that of the Old, and success in 

no 



I 



1 



I 



WOMAN S WORK IN FRANCE. Ill 

business will be as strongly boasted of in the future, 
as retiring from business is now in America. 

Beginning with the head, we have the milliners of 
Paris first on our list. We drive under a grand/<?r/^- 
cochere. Liveried door-keeper and ushers direct us 
up a grand stairway and into the reception-room. 
Madame is out driving with her children. Monsieur 
is engaged with an importer from" — New York most 
likely — and as we are women, we prefer the attend- 
ance of any of the twenty-five or thirty women in ele- 
gant toilettes of black silk and plain head-dress. 

One might think it was altogether a mistake, and 
we were at' a morning reception, for no bonnets are to 
be seen in this grand salon ! But patience. Make your 
choice of the language you are disposed to use, Eng- 
lish, Spanish, Italian, German, or the native tongue. 
If you are shrewd you take the last, and a French 
dame escorts you to the first salesroom. Opera and 
wedding bonnets. Don't breathe so hard, for some 
of the dainty things will float away out of the open 
window if you do not approach them more carefully ! 
Next salon: bonnets and hats for the drive. Very 
neat and tasteful. Another salon : bonnets and hats 
for misses — Exquisite ! Another salon : caps and 
hats for les enfants — -too lovely for anything! 
Another: caps for bonnes. Now we cross a hall 
and enter another suite of rooms. Fairyland, or 
some sort of cloud - queen's palace ! Illusion and 
lace-veils floating around a hundred lay-figures rep- 
resenting every grade and rank of fashion, from the 



112 A woman's experiences IN EUROPE. 

Empress herself, with caronel of jewels, flowers, or 
feathers to complete the toilette, to the simple muslin 
veil of the youthful bridesmaid. Dresses for wed- 
ding, imperial reception, and every imaginable dress- 
occasion, are used to display the tasteful arrangement 
of sprays, wreaths, bouquets, and single flowers, by 
these wealthy milliners. Our Fifth Avenue belles 
would envy madame her show-stock ; and madame 
reaps such an abundant harvest from this very envy 
of Miss Fifth Avenue that she can afford to be better 
dressed all the year round than our fashionable 
women are in their festal robes ! Twenty millions of 
francs the Parisian milliners alone give in as the sum ' 
of their annual returns ! What of madame's stand- 
ing in society ? Be careful how you attempt to enter 
her circle. If you are not properly introduced, the 
result will be humiliating to yourself The fabrica- 
tion of artificial flowers, employing fifteen thousand 
women in Paris alone, brings in eighteen millions of 
francs per annum. Preparing and mounting of fea- 
thers for bonnets and ornamental trimming, add ten 
millions more per annum to the enormous trade profits. 
Clothing for women only, is produced at the rate of 
forty millions of francs yearly in Paris alone, and 
reaches in the whole of France one hundred millions, 
or ;^4,ooo,ooo ! Work on shoes, one hundred mil- 
lions of francs. I am afraid to give the statistics in 
Jiair trade ; my feminine readers would frown, and the 
males would only laugh, so I will omit the astound- 
ing figures. Twenty thousand five hundred sets of 



WOMAN S WORK IN FRANCE. II3 

delicate French fingers work up seventeen tons of 
gold every year for ornaments in gold jewelry. Ten 
thousand other sets make those bewitching cravats 
that cause our modern gentlemen to disdain assist- 
ance in tying them. Romance is flying forever with 
the dust from the sewing-machine. Thirty thousand 
women are employed as cutters, sewers, embroiderers, 
and laundresses in shirt-making. Fans, parasols, 
stays, every department of clothing toys, fine glass 
work, ornamental paper-making, stationary and other 
manufacturing, is done by the women of Paris ; and 
nine-tenths of them do all their work at home, not even 
having to go after or return their work. The advan- 
tages of this arrangement to the trade are incalcula- 
ble. The herding of women in hot factories, and 
their alienation from home influence are avoided; their 
opportunities to give their best time and attention to 
the work react to the mutual advantage of employer 
and work-woman. So completely may a Paris'ian 
woman combine with her domestic duties every day, 
a few hours profitable work for outside trade, that she 
is scarcely conscious of an extra tax on her time, and 
reaps for reward the easy content for her husband 
and children, who share with her a more equal distri- 
bution of outdoor amusement and home industry 
than we Americans could believe possible. 

After this exact statement, I need not insist that 
the French are as industrious as any nation in the 
world, with the advantage over others of a proper 
consideration for their individual self-education and 



114 A WOMAN S EXPERIENCES IN EUROPE. 

improvement in all laws of health and recreation. 
Their only pernicious habit is drink. On Thursday 
and Sunday evenings, I would venture to affirm, 
there are not three sober drivers in a hundred in 
Paris. On Monday and Friday mornings it is im- 
possible to engage workmen for any purpose. This 
is particularly trying in a country where the division 
of labor is so minute. For instance, the washer- 
women wash everybody's clothes. Even the scullion 
in the kitchen never washes her own caps or aprons. 
She* is a scullion, and will be one till she dies. The 
clock-winder winds everybody's clocks. There were 
at least thirty clocks in our boarding-house, and but 
one key ; that was mine, and it was made fast to the 
clock, or I could not have had it. Now imagine 
(and it really happens, sometimes,) the whole twenty- 
nine clocks stopped. Imagine my despair as I heard 
the twenty-ninth knock at my door and a " Par-r-r- 
don, madame, mais quelle heure est-il, s'il vous plait?" 
The easiest way would have been to throw the 
clock out the window and resolve to do in France 
as France did. That was the secret of happiness 
in Paris. From the Emperor to the gargon^ every 
one had his work, his privileges entirely his own, and 
dreamed of no other work or amusement in the 
world. A bonne never envied or imitated her mis- 
tress's bonnet, because she only wore caps, and 
would wear caps always. The ouvrier in blue blouse 
and pattons mingled as freely in the crowd of visitors 
to the galleries of the Louvre, the grand play of the 



^ 



woman's work in FRANCE. II5 

fountains at Versailles, the weekly visit to the Gobe- 
lins, or the ceremonial services at the Invalides or 
Notre Dame, as any prince or duke. Every educa- 
tional institution for which France deservedly ranks 
first in numbers and quality, — I except none, — the 
poor can enter with less cost than the rich, and learn 
by object-teaching what the English boor must lack for 
want of means to fee the lackeys who shut the door 
against poverty indiscriminately. I believe it is this 
very love of systematic freedom that makes the 
Frenchman averse to Republican confusion. 

Whatever sins may be laid at the door of Louis 
Napoleon, he will always have one claim on the 
French people. He was a consistent Emperor in his 
performances, as well as his promises ; and had the 
people of France exercised the judgment the world 
had a right to expect of an enlightened nation, they 
would have refused to undertake the subduing of 
another people as a mere distraction from their tem- 
porary dissatisfaction with their own government. 
The French nation never will be happy under our 
system of government. Constant work and struggle 
for ascendency, frets and distresses them. Spasmodic 
mobs of Communists, one Lafayette, one Baron 
Haussman, and one Thiers, do not constitute the 
French people. They are preeminently a peace- 
loving, easy-going people, with less wound in their 
voluble tongues than a German has in his most 
veiled glance, whether it pretends interest or indiffer- 
ence. Vive la France ! 



Il6 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

Among other odd things in Paris, the names of the 
stores after saints, demons, and similar contradictions, 
strike the American as very amusing. Au Petit St. 
Thomas, Au Cypres, Au Gamin de Paris, A L' Enfant 
Jesus, Au bon Diable ( ! ), Au bonne Pasteur, A la 
Creche, and other extraordinary names for stores, 
puzzle the stranger who may not be aware either that 
every day of the year is dedicated to some Saint on 
the French Calendar, so it is always certain to be 
some one's holiday in Paris. 

The liberality of France in providing schools and 
institutions at the government's expense for popular 
instruction, is worthy of imitation in its economical 
plan. We will take for an instance the Jardin des 
Plantes. In a branch garden in the Bois, the Jardin 
d' Acclimatation, foreign beasts and fowls are domesti- 
cated, fishes, strange sea-plants, and silk-worms are 
multiplied to an amazing extent. There is also a 
botanical garden, with hot-houses and green-houses, 
where ten thousand bags of seed and eight thousand 
young trees are annually produced. 

Alligators from Louisiana, poultry from Mexico, 
South American birds and reptiles, and American 
eagles of every description, were here, many of which 
I saw for the first time. The Jardin des Plantes was 
founded in 1635, when America was only a wilder- 
ness, and it would be absurd to expect our Govern- 
ment to afford us in a few years such an institution, 
combining in one a menagerie of living animals, con- 
taining four hundred and fifty wild animals, four 



woman's work in FRANCE. 11/ 

hundred birds, besides the great number at the 
Nursery. 

Several fine galleries of botany, mineralogy, and 
zoology, a library of natural history, and an amphi- 
theatre furnished with laboratories for public lectures 
on all branches of natural history. In these schools 
every branch of learning is taught. Why can not 
our Government found such an institution at Wash- 
ington, and each State have a garden of acclimatation 
or nursery for the principal garden, extending them 
to the preservation of the largest and finest specimens 
of wild animals, according to their several means, 
making the sale of young animals, plants, and seeds, 
and the eggs of fowls and birds, pay partially for 
their support ? The eggs alone bring an income of 
ten thousand francs to the garden of acclimatation, and 
the sale of animals one hundred and five thousand 
francs. Independent of the great advantage to stu- 
dents, the instruction and amusement these zoological 
gardens afford children is incalculable. 

Encouragement for perfection in the pursuits of 
art is afforded the stranger in France as generously 
as the native artist. Their annual exhibitions at the 
Palais de ITndustrie, where only the works of living 
artists are admitted, keep every student in France in 
a dream of crowning success at the spring salon, 
where he competes for the medal France awards to 
the most worthy, without regard to nation or sex. 
At one of these exhibitions I saw two thousand five 
hundred paintings, over three thousand designs, 



Il8 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

lithographs, engravings, and a marvellously beautiful 
display of sculpture. The work is invariably good 
that passes the severe test of a rigid committee for 
examination of all pictures or works presented for 
exhibition. Not more than two works are accepted 
from one artist, and only those who have received 
five medals, including the first or gold medal, can 
enter them without inspection and approval of the 
committee or jury chosen by the vote of all the 
artists. Those marked "Exempt" are excellent, no 
favoritism being possible under the regulations so 
fairly determined on. 

All the paintings are placed in equally good posi- 
tions, the light being so disposed, as it enters through 
five hundred and ninety-eight large windows, and is 
transmitted to the ground floor through rectangular 
skylights, that each group is displayed under most 
favorable auspices. Over the doors of the salons are 
the letters corresponding with the initials of the ex- 
hibitors, and by this capital arrangement one can 
walk straight to the galleries containing the works 
of friends, without first wearying the eyes and feet in 
search of them through rows of miscellaneous paint- 
ings. One day, at the last exhibition I attended, the 
Princess Mathilde held the Emperor captive before a 
painting of Mr. Schenck, from Holstein, entitled 
'' Autour de Vaiigey The picture coveted by the 
princess, and submitted to the decision of a Napo- 
leon, was one that would have thrown Darwin into 
an ecstasy of delight. It consisted of portraits of 



woman's work in FRANCE. IIQ 

seven donkeys around a trough of water; their faces 
only presented, the water streaming from their 
mouths, and each visage bearing a mixture of the 
grave and comical expression so characteristic of the 
donkey tribe, that one was affected very peculiarly 
on first looking at the picture, and struck with the 
wonderful power of the artist in giving seven por- 
traits of the same animal so entirely distinct in 
characteristics, and all so true to life. The artist had 
received all the medals, five, and was consequently 
hors de combat. I visited his studio with Mr. Hel- 
mick, just in time to witness a beautiful study of a 
peasant-baby's bath, and drive a whole barn-yard of 
four-legged models distracted. Such goats, sheep, 
cows, donkeys, dogs, cats, shanghais, and kittens, all 
fattened in one pen ! Barnum's happy families never 
afforded such models for flocks in oil, in landscapes 
of Southern France, with skies of indescribable blue, 
blending with the green that in Mediterranean mists 
alone can be called beautiful ; while peasants who are 
born to art are presented in graceful postures, and 
with expressions intensely life-like. Another artist 
among the masters of our American students at 
Ecouen, was Mr. Frere. His versatile talent and 
unceasing industry produced landscapes, figures, in- 
teriors of churches, hamlets, and ruins, with equal 
fidelity. Our own artist, Howard Helmick, received 
most flattering praises from the admirers of the 
Flemish and French schools. In design he has the 
grace and truth to nature of the French, while in 



120 A woman's experiences IN EUROPE. 

finish he is careful as the Germans, who rank as first 
of their school. One of his subjects was treated in 
a most artistic manner; "The letter from America," 
read by a young, hopeful peasant, to a group of 
listeners who betrayed credulity, joy, grave and 
anxious expectation, hope, and sullen doubt, accord- 
ing to their experiences in a land where fortunes are 
never realized by the lower classes, and by those who 
cannot fancy the emulation that rouses the ambition, 
and the success that rewards the efforts of their 
wandering children in the world of promise — 
America ! 

The brothers Hazeltine, painter and sculptor, called 
forth loud commendations from the committee and 
visitors to the salon. Messrs. Cole, Bacon, and 
Ramsey, Misses Stevenson, Gordon, and Haldeman, 
did credit to our American aspirations for high places 
in the art world. In the old gallery of St. Germain, 
works are exhibited of possessors of all the medals, 
and great anxiety is manifested by the brotherhood 
to gain that honorable distinction ; but in the Louvre, 
where only dead masters are represented, every one 
seems willing to bide his time. 



CHAPTER XII. 

FUNERAL CUSTOMS, AND MONUMENTS. 

ONE can readily judge of the wealth or standing 
of a family in Paris by the cost of a funeral. The 
porte-cochere or entrance to the house of the deceased 
on the day of the funeral is draped with black and 
white cloth or velvet, plain or embroidered with silver. 
The coffin is placed on a pedestal, draped with black, 
and lighted with candles in massive silver candle- 
sticks. The heavy black curtain across the doorway 
is looped on both sides with silver or silk cord, and 
the initials of the deceased, embroidered on a square 
piece, are placed conspicuously over the door. Every 
man, woman, and child, in passing, stops to cross 
himself, and offer a hurried prayer. No Frenchman 
or boy passes a house of mourning or a funeral pro- 
cession without uncovering his head and making a 
solemn acknowledgment of his observance of it. In 
the church the entire walls, side-altars, and all orna- 
ments are covered with black. The pedestal for the 
coffin is elegantly mounted with silver, and as many 
candles are burning as can be crowded around it. 
Even the chairs of the mourners are covered with 
black, with the monogram of the deceased in white 

6 121 



122 A woman's experiences IN EUROPE. 

embroidered letters. Thirty priests and immense 
choirs of chanters officiate at the altars. The family 
has a master of ceremonies wh-o stands at the railing 
of the altar, and when it is time to kneel he turns, 
bowing first to one side, then the other, and when the 
prayer is finished, he signifies it in the same manner. 
At the conclusion of the Mass, each person present 
walks past the coffin, pausing beside it an instant 
while he makes the sign of the cross, and then — 
goes home. The empty carnages follow the remains 
to their resting-place. Before leaving this subject, I 
will revert to the solemn but beautiful custom ob- 
served in France on All-Saints' Day, of visiting and 
decorating the tombs of the departed. On the first 
day of November, I joined a small party and drove 
within three squares of Pere la Chaise, the oldest 
cemetery in Paris. There we were stopped by the 
mass of people who were slowly moving towards the 
gates, each one carrying a wreath, cross, or ornament 
of flowers, some artificial, many natural, and a great 
number of the beautiful immortelles that, protected 
from the rains, will last years without fading. The 
crowd was so great that mounted guards were sta- 
tioned to prevent any vehicles being driven near 
enough to create a disturbance. Without the least 
hesitation, we took our places and moved on with the 
multitude. In the first place it was a French crowd — 
that is, the most patient, polite, good-natured, conse- 
quently orderly crowd in the world ; in the second place, 
they were all on the same mission. Think of it — 



FUNERAL CUSTOMS, AND MONUMENTS. I23 

forty thousand people going together to pay tribute to 
the memory of their dead ! As we ascended the hill 
on which the cemetery stands, the multitude of people 
before us, and those pressing on towards us from every 
street that led to the gateway, all with eager faces 
pale with suppressed emotion, would have made a 
sublime but awful picture could an artist have grasped 
the subject with Milton's power of idealizing his 
poetic fancies. We entered the city of the dead. 
Twenty thousand tombs! laid out in streets, each 
tomb built in the side of a hill, with shelves and stone 
cells for the coffin; the entrance a square stone cell, 
with iron-grated door; in it a small altar, on which 
candles are kept burning, and so many wreaths and 
decorations being on it that the inscriptions were 
completely concealed. At every door and in every 
cell was a mother, father, brother, or sister, with eyes 
looking up through scalding tears, praying for the re- 
pose of their dead. There was a horrid fascination 
in this trying scene. We moved on to the chapel of 
Our Lady, where the altar w^as draped with crape, 
and votive offerings of every description laid by pen- 
itents and mourners inside the railing that enclosed a 
magnificent, sculptured cross, with the Virgin and a 
dead Christ at the foot. From this scene we went on 
to the older portion of the cemetery, where we found 
the tombs of La Fontaine, Moliere, Marshal Ney, 
Beranger the poet, Sidney Smith, De Balzac, and the 
superb monument of a banker, M. Aguado. Rachel, 
Talma, Bellini, and many others of revered memory, 



124 A WOMAN S EXPERIENCES IN EUROPE. 

are entombed in this cemetery, and here still stands 
the tomb of Abelard and Heloise, so old that the in- 
scriptions can scarcely be deciphered, and yet the re- 
clining figures of the monk and nun, whose romantic 
history every poet has woven into verse, still appear 
as perfect in outline and expression as they did a 
hundred years ago. From the top of the hill we had 
a grand view of Paris at sunset, and there was a rev- 
elation in the scene. Paris was a wonderful picture 
of life. Around us reigned death. Above all, the 
glorious sky, with its crimson, purple, and golden 
folds, that none but the Creator could withdraw, in- 
vited us to contemplate the promise of immortality 
beyond this world. On our way home we stopped 
at one of the numerous stands near the cemetery, and 
purchased mementos of the occasion, in the shape 
of silver crosses and hearts, with photographic views 
of the cemetery and chapel, on inserted pieces of 
glass not larger than the head of an ordinary-sized 
pin, but when looked at from the opposite side, they 
were magnified to the size of a picture two feet 
square. 

At Reuil, we visited the little church where the 
tomb of Josephine was erected by her children, Hor- 
tense and Eugenie, and opposite which Napoleon III. 
erected one nearly similar, to the memory of Hor- 
tense, his mother. The latter is very chaste, — - the 
Queen kneels in sorrowful meditation, the Angel of 
Resignation offering her its heavenly sympathy. 

That of the Empress Josephine is of the purest 



FUNERAL CUSTOMS, AND MONUMENTS. 125 

white marble, by Cartellier. Josephine kneeling 
under an arch in the act of prayer ; the attitude of 
the figure, and lines in the sorrow-chastened counte- 
nance, exciting emotions of pain in the beholder; the 
sad story of her divorce illustrated in a fallen crown, 
over which her queenly head is bowed with womanly 
grief and painful resignation. Immortelles, in wreaths 
and garlands, covered the railings round the tomb of 
Josephine, some long faded, but many quite fresh, as 
if gentle hands had just placed them there; and I 
fancied the glistening drops half hidden in the leaves 
were tears of sorrow or regret, such as no one sheds 
at the gorgeous tomb of Napoleon. 

I have said very little in relation to the domestic 
life in French families, for the reason that they are 
not a domestic people. Their houses are built for 
economy — very small rooms, their kitchen ranges 
divided into fire compartments, graduating from a di- 
vision that will heat water for only one cup of coffee to 
a furnace that is capable of cooking the whole family 
dinner. At noon and in the evening are the only 
hours for family gatherings, that is, dejeuner-a-four- 
chette and dinner. In the winter there is more regu- 
larity in home habits ; but give a Frenchman employ- 
merit in the morning, his wages, dividends, or gains, 
at the stroke of four o'clock, and there is no telling 
where you will find him till midnight. Perhaps dining 
with his entire family at a cafe concert, restaurant, or 
in an arbor of any public promenade. Let Paris be 
destroyed by fire or gunpowder, provide tents and 



126 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

employment for the people, and their own fertile fan- 
cies will create a world of pleasure. In fact, there is 
a nearer kinship between the Arabs and the French 
than either nation suspects. The Grand Sheikh who 
sleeps at the Invalides will have a narrow escape be- 
fore the Grand Jury that will try his case at the Judg- 
ment-day. Evidences of plunder form the very orna- 
ments of his resting-place ! 

Heir-looms are revered by the French beyond 
temptation. I have in my mind a pretty woman 
bending over a treasure-box lined with tin, and roll 
after roll of paper is taken from the enclosed pack- 
age, when, behold ! a lace flounce from the robe of an 
ancestral Cardinal ! " The Purveyor of His Holiness 
offered me twenty -five thousand dollars for this 
flounce," she pouts ; ^* but it is an heir-loom, and I 
dare not sell it ! " Reader, when you enter a Cathe- 
dral in Rome, and pass the collection-box. Remember 
THE Poor ! You will find droves of them on the 
steps ; and you can't mistake them, for they are all 
labelled, " licensed to beg! " If they annoy you, com- 
plain, and they will be deprived of their badges for one 
whole week, and fined by the monks who commission 
them. If Victor Emmanuel finds fault with my gram- 
mar, change are to were in the above paragraph. 

The old restlessness came back to me after months 
of sight-seeing such as few female travellers have op- 
portunities to enjoy, when the dark winter days came 
upon me, and I resolved to leave Paris for Germany. 
The climate might be colder, but not more severe 



FUNERAL CUSTOMS, AND MONUMENTS. 12/ 

than the damp chill mornings and evenings in Paris, 
where the provision for fires was wretched. A thick 
carpet covered the brick floor of my bed-room, and a 
small fireplace crackled with a cheerful little blaze 
that crimsoned my face while my back was freezing. 
A jug of hot water at my feet kept me alive through 
the nights, and a cup of hot coffee thawed my fingers 
in the morning so I could make my toilette ; but at 
dejeuner, at twelve, I could not endure the marble 
floor of the breakfast-room, cold as Iceland, though 
Monsieur, the chief patron of the Hotel Royale, 
would be happy as Falstaff while he poured boil- 
ing water into his wine, scorched his boots on a 
chaufrette with two sous' worth of fire, charbon de 
Paris in it ; covered his bald head with a red hand- 
kerchief, and discussed the affairs of the nation 
with a parenthetical " Gargon, encore du pain ! " at 
frequent intervals. No. I had received a letter from 
my acquaintance, Mrs. A., saying, "I shall be in 
Dresden three weeks, where you had better join me, 
and then go with Mr. and Mrs. B. to Rome." I pic- 
tured the big Dutch stoves so famous for comfort, and 
wrote, " I will come to Dresden ! " 



CHAPTER XIII. 

A SOLITARY JOURNEY. 

WHEN I had only contrasted France with 
America, and doubled my average world, a 
consciousness of the extent of sin, suffering, and want 
oppressed me. And now another country, another 
nation, a third world — Germany invited me. On my 
arrival in Paris, I looked with contempt at a young 
girl, who declared " she would not go sight-seeing for 
a whole week." I regarded it as gross affectation. 
But experience taught me how the brain is wearied, 
the heart saddened with the ever multiplying scenes 
of blackened towers, moulded ruins, populations of 
heroes and saints on canvas, in marble, bronze, and 
precious metals. Palaces, churches, museums, man- 
ufactories, galleries of art, all the charitable, educa- 
tional, and industrial institutions explored, leave the 
mind burdened with a sense of the vastness of the 
Creator's designs and the utter inability of man to 
comprehend them. Works remain as models for the 
whole art-world, whose authors are no better known 
than if they had never existed. 

Towards Germany I looked for an invigorating 
contest of mind with mind, for spontaneous sugges- 

128 



A SOLITARY JOURNEY. I29 

tions, for tough realities, living, active, growing prin- 
ciples, that would make men manly and restore nature 
to its primitive naturalness, religion to its original 
divinity. But I found nature oftentimes too natural, 
and the divine obscured in the mists of philosophy. 
Saxony is a satirical comment on the mutability of 
kingdoms. King John a Romanist, Dresden Protes- 
tant, Prussia crowding Saxony, Austria saying "never 
mind!" King John had a religious regard for all 
mankind, but a little jealousy of sister governments. 
When Professor Morse was presented at the Saxon 
court, a royal attendant whispered to the king, the 
title to distinction of his American guest. "Ah, 
indeed ! " was the supercilious reply. King John's 
recently published work had not realized his expecta- 
tions. Poor and proud king, he was a pitiable object 
to me. At the Opera he sat in his box, opposite the 
queen's, looking every inch a martyr, and had I been 
his mouthpiece, I should have sung : 

" A patriot was my occupation, 
It got me a name but no pelf, 
Till starved for the good of the nation, 
I wrote for the good of myself. 

I told them, if 'twas not for me, 
Their freedoms would all go to pot; 

I promised to set them all free, 
But never a farthing I got ! " 

But, dear me ! I have taken an awful leap from Paris 
to Dresden. The trip will amuse us. Let us start 
from the Chemin-de-fer-du-Nord, at four and a half 



130 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

o'clock, on a December day, snow a foot deep. As 
you are only a myth, dear Reader, I shall provide 
myself with but "mixed ticket;" that is, first-class 
from Paris to Cologne, second-class from Cologne to 
Dresden. My reason for this proceeding I will ex- 
plain as I had occasion to be grateful for advice, that 
I transmit with special reference to lady readers. In 
France, second-class travelling is uncomfortable in 
the winter, as there are no heaters, even in the car- 
riages for ladies only. In Germany, ladies travelling 
without gentlemen are placed in the same car, whether 
they purchase first- or second-class tickets ; in fact, the 
only difference is in the position of the carriages in 
the train. First-class and second-class station-rooms 
are but one apartment, third and fourth another. If 
you ride in a first-class car in Germany, you are taken 
for one of the nobility or a snob ; and as first-class 
passengers are supposed to have couriers and attend- 
ants enough to fill a car, all the carriages are engaged 
by parties who smoke and enjoy their extra privi- 
leges without regard to stray waifs. On the contrary, 
in the second-class, second in price only, a carriage is 
provided in which gentlemen are not admitted ; and 
if a lady travelling alone buys a ticket and requests 
to have a car where there is no smoking, she finds in- 
variably she is duped, having paid for a first-class 
ticket when she occupies the same carriages as those 
who paid one-third less and have first-class accom- 
modations. Let all lady travellers remember this. 
My preparations for the journey were simple though 



A SOLITARY JOURNEY. I3I 

numerous. A zephyr hood for the head, a water- 
proof dress, woollen jacket, water-proof cloak, fur cape, 
English velvet shoes lined with loosely woven wool 
and bordered with fur, a chaufreite^ an umbrella, a 
pair of high India-rubber boots in a basket, warm 
gloves, guide-book, and pocket-lantern^ completed the 
outfit for winter travel on the continent. 

Arriving at the depot, I went into one of the hun- 
dred offices in the immense building, on which was 
pasted a card: "Information given to English 
Travellers." Supposing, of course, the information 
was to be given in English, I walked in. My first ques- 
tion was in English ; it was only half understood. The 
second in French ; the answer was a patois of both 
English and French. The last desperate; I mixed 
English, French, and German in equal proportions. 
The reply was satisfactory, and off I hurried, chequed 
my trunk for Dresden, paying a good round spm for 
extra weight, (they only allow fifty pounds baggage,) 
and entering a first-class carriage in every sense of 
the word, at five precisely the train for Cologne 
rolled out from Paris, before one English traveller had 
recovered her mental equilibrium after the polyglot 
dialogue with a railroad official. 

The carriage for ladies only was deserted by nine 
o'clock, by every one but myself As the door was 
locked, a strange feeling came over me at my situation. 
A heavy snow-storm without, a long night before me, 
the train flying as fast as steam could carry it towards 
Germany, and I alone. Looking round at the four 



132 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

comfortable lounges, and placing my feet on the 
newly-heated foot-warmers, (filled with hot water, 
which was renewed about every fifty miles,) I soon 
concluded it was very comfortable, and taking a book, 
read myself sleepy. I had passed several hours in 
oblivion, when the lock was turned, and a voice called 
out, in a jargon, that interpreted, meant, " Please 
bring your basket into the custom-house, and get a 
cup of coffee if you like." 

We were at a town on the Belgian frontier, and 
after convincing the of^cer that my basket contained 
nothing I intended to trade, I took a cup of coffee, 
and surveyed my fellow-passengers, or rather pas- 
senger-neighbors, who had been invited out of their 
carriages into the snow-storm, at midnight, to their 
intense disgust. A red-hot stove and the coffee soon 
reconciled them, and after a lively chat, ladies and 
children, gentlemen and peasants, all returned to their 
places in the train, were locked in again, and off Ave 
went towards Cologne. 

After the refreshing sleep, excitement of clearing 
the Custom House, the stimulus afforded by strong 
coffee, and with the renewed pleasure of flying along 
through a snow-storm in a warm, cosy railway car- 
riage, with a cheerful light just trimmed hy th.^^ guard 
on the roof of the train, it was useless to try to sleep 
again ; so I took out a German instructor, and selected 
the colloquial phrases most likely to be used in my 
German adventures. Just as morning began to dawn 
we struck the junction of the Meuse and Sambre 



A SOLITARY JOURNEY. I33 

rivers, where Namur, the capital of the province of 
Namur, is situated. It is a fortress, with twenty-two 
thousand inhabitants, and, since first captured by 
Caesar, it has been taken and retaken by the French 
and EngHsh, partly destroyed and rebuilt, until finally 
the Duke of Wellington strengthened it at the ex- 
pense of Great Britain. The view of Namur and its 
lofty citadel was extremely beautiful, and the charm 
was not dispelled by our crossing the fine bridges 
that span the Meuse and Sambre into the valley, 
where the scenic effect was a most wonderful combi- 
nation of wildness and cultivation ; ruined castles and 
new villages ; marble quarries and vineyards ; and, 
through all, the river winding with its beautiful un- 
dulating banks, causing a cessation of wonder at the 
rhapsodies of the German poets who were permitted 
to haunt such scenes. 

As the daylight strengthened, not wishing to take 
my eyes off the scenery, and yet anxious to refresh 
my memory of German, I began again with the 
numerals. Eins- — we dashed through a tunnel; zwei 
— another tunnel; drei — another! Now I began in 
good earnest to count, and reached nineteen, besides 
seventeen bridges that cross the Vesdre, by the time 
we arrived at Aix-la-Chapelle. The Prussian gov- 
ernment requires the passports of travellers who stop 
here to be vised, taking two days to finish the busi- 
ness. Being alone, and wishing to join friends at 
Dresden without delay, I gave this interesting city 
the go-by, and reached Cologne, the largest and 



134 A woman's experiences in Europe. 

wealthiest city on the Rhine. It gave me a sort of 
antique sensation to go through the fortifications — 
immense walls on which three carriages could con- 
veniently be driven abreast. Entering the depot, we 
were all marched into the Custom-House adjoining, 
and had the pleasure of seeing our baggage ransacked 
by Prussian officers. Mine was explored no farther 
than the tray of the trunk ; for at this critical moment 
enough German entered my head to form a declara- 
tion that my baggage consisted of nothing but clothes 
and books. In a moment the trunk was locked and 
passed on to the porters. A Russian lady standing 
near, seeing her trunk carried off, and unable to com- 
prehend a word of German, seized my arm and never 
paused in a regular trot till we reached the baggage- 
car, about a quarter of a mile, at the other end of the 
depot, and were told by the laughing porter that it 
was all right, and he was only returning it to the 
train. With an appetite somewhat improved by the 
exercise, I returned with this new acquaintance to 
the depot, the finest I ever saw. The dining-room 
was about the size of a concert hall, and the tables 
already prepared for breakfast a la carte. At a stand 
at one end was a great quantity of the Jean Maria 
Farina cologne for sale, but the price double one 
would pay at the stores. At another stand were 
the German books for children, with pictures of all 
sorts, for which one face made of gutta-percha, fast- 
ened to the last picture, suffices for all the figures in 
the book. They were very ingenious, and the price 



A SOLITARY JOURNEY. I35 

ye.ry low. Leaving our baskets and extra wrappings 
in the cloak-room, where we received a check for a 
few sous, we started after breakfast to see Cologne. 
The day was dull, and a two-inch layer of snow 
covered from our sight the dirt for which Cologne is 
noted. However, a guide awaited us at the door, 
and pointing out the wonderfully beautiful Cathedral, 
or Minster of St. Peter, directly opposite, offered to 
conduct us through it, and to other places of interest. 
The style of the architecture is Gothic, unmixed, and 
when finished it will be one of the most magnificent 
specimens in the world. Two millions of dollars 
have already been expended on it, and it is estimated 
that five millions more will be required to complete 
it. In the side chapels are some fine old paintings 
(the building was begun in 1248), particularly the 
chapel of St. Agnes, which contains the picture of 
St. Ursula, and the eleven thousand virgins. We 
were invited to pay a visit to the church of St. Ursula, 
where the bones of the veritable eleven thousand are 
piled on shelves built in the wall, for the edification 
of strangers. I declined, and contented myself with 
those of the Wise Men who came from the East to 
Bethlehem, with the presents they brought for the 
infant Christ, which are valued at six millions of 
dollars ! Also, the skulls of the Magi, crowned with 
diamonds, with their names written in rubies, and a 
bone of St. Matthew, which were among the choice 
relics exhibited. Resolved to push on to Dresden 
without delay, and fearing the next train for Leipsic 



136 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

would be blocked with snow, with my new Russian 
acquaintance, made with a rush — after her baggage, 
I entered the car for women only, and found there a 
lady from London, on her way to Leipsic; another 
from Cologne, going to Magdeburg; and soon we 
took in three others at different stations, making 
seven independent females journeying together. The 
English lady could speak French, the Russian spoke 
English and French, beside her native language, both 
Germans used the French as easily as German, and 
the two Dutch ladies were able to understand the 
three languages, and spoke enough of either for their 
comfort and convenience. Under such circumstances, 
each one in turn gave a specimen of her elocutionary 
powers in her native tongue, and had attentive 
audience. Then the replies made, sometimes alter- 
nately, sometimes simultaneously, in their different 
languages, were very amusing. A little comfortable 
body, raw English, wishing to be sociable, looked 
out the window, and timidly remarked, " il /eige ! " 
A lady from Holland peeped over a novel, and the 
merry twinkle in her eyes said as plainly as words 
could, " the lady surely does n't mean leige." I ven- 
tured to suggest " il neige ? " " Sure enough, neige is 
snow!" answered the English lady, with a good 
hearty laugh at her comical '^choice of words'' The 
novel being eagerly devoured by the Dutch lady, was 
" Uncle Tom's Cabin," in English ! It gave me a 
home feeling I never could have imagined a dumb ac- 
quaintance could so strongly move, but Topsy, Eva, 



A SOLITARY JOURNEY. I37 

and Uncle Tom, were mutual acquaintances, through 
whom the Hollander and myself formed a real friendly 
attachment. 

It astonished me to see the elegance with which 
women travelling in Europe dress. They wear their 
best clothes, and at the stations all climb out of the 
cars and meet for a chat at the doors, or promenade 
till the signal for starting is given. If they have their 
servants or couriers, glasses of hot wine, sandwiches, 
and cakes are brought to them, and eaten standing by 
their car-doors. A Prussian nobleman and his family 
seemed to enjoy this custom as much as the less noted 
travellers, although the day was intensely cold, and it 
was pitiful to see the silk trains climbed over and 
draggled with mud and snow by the guards and par- 
ties, who stumbled over royalty with as little remorse 
as they trampled on water-proof dresses. Furs are 
worn in every shape. Both men and women wear 
fur hats, fur cloaks, or silk or cloth cloaks, down to 
the feet, lined all through with fur, even the sleeves, 
and fur shoes, muffs, and muzzles. The latter is a 
piece of brown fur with strings, the fur covering 
the mouth, and fastened behind the ears. No doubt 
being thus compelled to breathe through the nos- 
trils is beneficial, but the effect is destruction to all 
vanity. 

A winter trip through a small portion of Holland, 
Prussia, Hanover, Brunswick, and Saxony, without 
stopping at Diisseldorf, Minden, Hanover, Brunswick, 
Magdeburg, and Leipsic, cannot furnish subject for 



138 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

much interesting description, particularly when the 
whole way was one snow scene, and windmills, used 
for economy's sake in lieu of steam- and water-works ; 
thatched and tiled roofs, reminding one of Luther's 
bold declaration, that " he would go to meet his ac- 
cusers, if he encountered as many devils as there 
were tiles on the houses of Wittenberg ; " peasants 
in every imaginable costume, and the ancient look of 
all the towns passed, formed the only features differ- 
ent from railway travelling in our own country. At 
Diisseldorf, the famous gallery of paintings, and the 
gardens in which Schiller and Goethe drew around 
them other German constellations, were sacrificed for 
greater considerations ; but my conclusions there were 
emphatically on the side of those who think a traveller's 
paradise is but an alternation of raptures and re-^^ 
grets. S 

As evening came on, the vigilance of our *' guards" 
was worthy of note. They renewed the hot water in 
the foot-warmers every twenty miles, had us supplied 
with hot coffee, bowls of soup, or sandwiches, in the 
cars, without our being compelled to climb out ; and 
their brass helmets and red uniforms guarded our 
carriage from all intrusion, even by gentlemen with 
their wives, who, wishing to escape the smoke allowed 
in their cars, attempted to come in ours, and were 
politely but decidedly refused admittance. 

Arriving at Dresden at twelve o'clock, I found the 
city asleep. All amusements for the evening begin- 
ning at six and ending at ten o'clock, every creature, 



A SOLITARY JOURNEY. I39 

from the King to the bell-boy at Stephani's hotel, had 
retired for the night, — except the guards and drivers, 
who waited with their droskies for our arrival. A 
droskie is a blue carriage, built in sections that come 
to pieces like a puzzle, and has the same delightful 
sound and motion that a charcoal wagon has at home ; 
the horse being yoked in, and wearing one bell on his 
neck, and the driver giving him his head over stones, 
logs, coal-heaps, and whatever happens to be in the 
way. 

The sleepy Dutch boy was roused by the driver's 
loud ring, and conducted me to the room engaged for 
me. It was furnished in best German style : green 
lounge, yellow chintz curtains, red blanket bed cover- 
ings, waxed floor, with mats before each piece of fur- 
niture, and a stove seven stones high / It was fifteen feet 
high, with an urn of two feet, so it just escaped the 
ceiling, made of iron, painted a dark green, and built in 
columns, four pairs supporting as many air-chambers, 
besides the place for Xh^fire. 

Before this monumental radiator I stood conjuring 
up a sentence that would express in German my 
desire for a cup of coffee at seven precisely in the 
morning, while Goethe and Schiller looked benignly 
on my efforts to thaw, from their bas-relief medallions 
in the stove-pipe. 

Thinking I had succeeded with my request, I dis- 
missed the somnambulist boy, with an additional mes- 
sage to my friends to be delivered the first thing in 
the morning. They did not expect me till three days 



I40 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

later. At seven precisely in the morning I was 
awakened by what I supposed to be an earthquake, 
but it was only my trunk dropped from that boy's 
shoulder outside my door; because in German, kaffee 
is coffee, and koffer is trunk, and I was n't quite up to 
the mark of distinction in my pronunciation. How I 
rung my bell, and how an explanation ensued, no one 
but that boy and myself will ever know; but my friends 
finding me laughing over my breakfast, thought I was 
hysterical with joy at our reunion ! 



CHAPTER XIV. 

DRESDEN. 

MY premature recital of King John's experiences 
in the infeHcities of the intellectual, literary 
animosities, and mutability of authorship, applies with 
equal force to German society generally. If it were 
not for music and tobacco, I verily believe some of 
the classes of German literati and philosophers would 
be rampant illustrations of Carlyle's queer texts. The 
middle classes, as in every other nation, are the hap- 
piest. Freed from the absurdly rigorous court for- 
malities, — all that an impoverished kingdom can have 
to sustain its wonted dignity, — and not enslaved by 
the gross, yes, barbarous habits of the low Germans, 
they enjoy life much like the French, only they work 
harder ; and music and tobacco keep the atmosphere 
in a perpetual cloud and vibration. 

It would be impossible to convey to a people like 
the Americans, who in every station of life consider 
themselves at least human, an idea of the degradation 
of the low Germans. In the streets of Dresden, a 
city of one hundred and thirty thousand inhabitants, 
I frequently saw a woman and a large dog harnessed 
together in a coal-cart, -the woman bending her back 

141 



142 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

to the burden, her arms hanging down till she ap- 
peared like an animal with two useless legs dangling 
before her, and her brutish countenance devoid of all 
indication of intellect or soul. Sometimes two women ; 
sometimes a woman, a man, and a dog ; always the 
woman with the dogs. At the end of the journey, 
often through snow a foot deep, a mat was laid down, 
and the dog slept upon it, while the woman shovelled 
away the snow, filled baskets with the coal, shouldered 
them, carried them up three and four pairs of stairs 
till all the load was emptied ; then, waking up the 
dog, she walked into the harness, and dragged the 
cart home again. 

Probably I have told you as much as many will 
believe ; but I saw more. A woman sawing wood, 
while a man smoked his pipe, waiting for her to finish, 
and allowing her to carry it up-stairs herself; and I 
have seen a man riding on a cart that two women and 
two dogs were pulling. America is young, but in 
points of civilization she is far in advance of Europe 
— not of Germany alone, for Paris and London might 
sit at her feet, and learn lessons of courtesy that would 
put in the shade all their French politeness and Eng- 
lish dignity, in which the real respect and regard for 
women have no part. I speak of them in their home 
relations, not as we travellers meet them on equal 
ground. What American city with one-fourth the 
number of inhabitants of Dresden, where music, the 
fine arts, and general education are so highly ap- 
preciated, would ever tolerate such degrading street 



DRESDRN. 143 

scenes as women doing the work of beasts and 
men? 

The conclusion of the matter is this. Our Saviour's 
example of honoring woman as a means of acceler- 
ating the enlightenment of the world has not yet 
spread over Germany. Judging by the Saxon court 
ladies and their associates, as they are regarded by 
their equals in rank of the opposite sex, a German's 
opinion of a woman's mental calibre is illustrated in 
Goethe's Marguerite ; and the possibilities of the 
miraculous in man reach Hercules and Faust. In the 
opinion of this august society, male and female, the 
low Germans are not, and need not be one inch be- 
yond Darwin's originals. 

I scarcely know which tried me most — the highly 
polished, waxed stairways in Paris, or the white- 
washed steps in Dresden. Coming from a reception 
or the opera on Saturday night, in Dresden, gives one 
no chance for a graceful, half-wearied walk up-stairs 
with a flowing train, displaying the taste of your last 
Parisian dress-maker. No, indeed. You gather your 
robes about you, and make as few foot-prints as pos- 
sible on Fritz's beautiful work for Sunday. 

A good, warm-hearted, moon-faced German frau is 
my ideal of comfort; I bask in such friendship. A 
well-educated fraulein is a delightful companion ; but 
a GtY-man I did not, do not, and will not like in strict 
accordance with what the Scriptures enjoin for neigh- 
borly love, till woman finds her proper place in the 
estimation of arbitrary, subjugating husbands, brothers, 
and even sons among them. 



144 A woman's experiences in europe. 

But in spite of these animosities, I enjoyed Dres- 
den wonderfully. There is no city in the world 
where musical entertainments are so universally good 
as at Dresden. The Sinfonie concerts by the Stadt 
Musikchor, under the direction of Puffholdt, are only 
surpassed by those of the Conservatoire of Paris, 
where every performer is a professor composer, and 
in most cases past middle age. There is one grand 
difference in the two institutions. The Conservatoire 
is exclusive, and out-siders, like our party, have an 
opportunity to hear the wonderful execution of their 
music only when some great demand on the charity 
of the government calls for extra contributions. Then 
the seats of the Salle de Conservatoire sell at Ristori 
prices, and are engaged a month in advance. For 
pleasure, I prefer the Sinfonie concerts at Dresden. 
Music is second nature to the Germans, and they 
perform it with so much ease, interpreting Beethoven, 
Handel, Cherubini, Mozart, Schubert, and Lanner, 
with equal felicity, awakening the sympathies of 
their audiences without exhausting them, and afford- 
ing perfect delight and satisfaction, without betraying 
the efforts, or intimating the laborious practice by 
which they arrived at the point where music is all 
harmony, and gives pleasure without satiety. On 
the days when the Sinfonie concerts are held at the 
Grosser Garten, all Dresden seems to rise an hour 
earlier than usual, the delph and woodenware scrubbed 
and scoured, dinner prepared by three instead of four 
o'clock, and the fires all covered for the night, the 



DRESDEN. 145 

servants dismissed to their homes, as but few sleep 
in the apartments of their employers ; and mother, 
father, grandmother and grandfather, and all the 
children old enough to knit or drink Martzen-bier, 
put on their fur-lined wrappings, and wade through 
the snow-storm two and three miles to the Concert 
Hall. Oh, Wolfsohn, Sentz, and all ye children of a 
land of music, will you ever bring our American 
tastes up to this point, when the nation will require 
the Government to provide for it the music of the 
masters, by orchestras trained for the credit as well as 
the service of the Government, and when the applause 
or silence of the people will be to you encourage- 
ment or reproach justly merited? We are rapid in 
all our acquirements, and with the example before us 
of the refining influence of music on the German 
character, no doubt time will do for us what centuries 
have accomplished for them. Taking a droschke^ or 
cab, at half-past three, we arrived at the hall of the 
Grosser Garten at four, and found the room large 
enough to accommodate four hundred people, with 
chairs and tables filled. The musicians, fifty in number, 
were placed on a platform raised about three feet above 
the floor, and a large placard, suspended by a string 
to one of the columns at the end of the stage, an- 
nounced that the performance would begin with the 
"Ouverture (Nr. i) zu ' Leonore,' von L. von Beet- 
hoven." The bright cheery fire in the immense stoves, 
the little foot-stools under the tables to keep our feet 
from scraping on the sanded floors, the groups of 

n 



146 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

happy families, with countenances so placid that one 
would never imagine grief had ever afflicted them, 
all sewing, embroidering, and knitting on the female 
side, and readings wiHting, and smoking on the male 
side, while great quart mugs of glass with metal 
covers, filled with the foaming amber-colored beer, 
stood on each table, to be noiselessly opened, raised 
to the lips, tasted only, replaced on the table, carefully 
closed to exclude the smoke and heat, twenty times 
during an overture, was an experience so entirely 
foreign to American ideas of amusement, that we were 
absolutely charmed with the novelty of our situation. 
Go to a smoker concert in Germany, sit opposite 
Meinherr von Sickendorf, with snuff-colored velveteen 
knee-breeches, green stockings and green coat, 
wreaths of smoke ascending in regular circles from 
his long-stemmed pipe, his face complacency itself, 
(while Minnie or Hilda, on either side, count in with 
the stitches of their knitting the intelligent glances 
from a group of students, and the King's guard, in 
their yellow uniforms, fair Saxon complexions and 
golden hair,) all imitated by about two hundred Ameri- 
cans, who smoke, take beer, potato salad, black 
bread, and citron lemonade, knit, sew, read, and write, 
and finally, adapt themselves so perfectly to the occa- 
sion that their costumes alone betray them as for- 
eigners. But guard even your breathing — the sweet 
strains of Schumann's Abendlied are trembling to a 
close. What applause ! Soldiers, students, Minnie, 
Hilda, grandfather and grandmother, beat their hands 



DRESDEN. 147 

on the tables till the Conductor consents to repeat 
the enchanting air ; and in a moment more you are 
plunged deep in reveries, carried across the ocean to 
your own snug sitting-room ; you are reading Sartor 
Resartus, and Carlyle has become tangible and not a 
rhapsodist only. You are about to shake hands with 
him, and tell him you know where his inspiration 
came from, when the loud and repeated applause 
brings you to the end of Erster Theil, or part first 
of the concert. Such a visiting from table to table, 
laughter, chatting, introductions, and recognitions — 
oh, it is delightful ! The musicians return to their 
stands, and part second begins. The entire Sinfonie 
(Nr. 2) G-moll of Mozart, Allegro molto. Andante, 
Minuetto, Allegro assai, are performed as we never 
can hope to hear it at home ; and not a sound in all 
that assembly breaks the spell, though each one con- 
tinues his occupation as steadily as if no other crea- 
ture were present. Another recess. Even the house- 
dogs, that have slept under the tables, come for their 
share of refreshment, and take the lumps of sugar 
from grandmother, and Minnie and Hilda's lovers. 
The sly rogues ! Part third is composed of Schubert's 
serenade, Lanner's waltzes, Mansfeldt's polkas, and 
other light pieces, that send us all dancing home with 
light hearts, light — yes, light heads ^ if we are not 
Germans, for we never drank beer by the quart be- 
fore — and a blessing in our hearts for King John of 
Saxony ! Now the most marvellous part of all this 
adventure is to be told. The expense ! Our car- 



148 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

riage cost us three " groschen," or nine cents apiece. 
Entrance-fee two-and-a-half " neu-groschen," or about 
eight cents apiece. The beer and eatables fifteen 
cents apiece. Total, thirty-two cents for classic music 
by the best performers, four hours of uninterrupted 
social and literary delight, and an experience Avhich 
money alone could not induce us to forget. So much I 
for the smoker concerts of Dresden. 

Opera in Dresden is enjoyment beyond expression. 
The comfort of the opera-house, the perfect arrange- 
ment of offices, and the order of the attendants, the 
nightly presence of some members of the royal family, 
keeping up a continual emulation on the part of the 
performers for royal rewards, the company being 
under the direct jurisdiction of the king, and the fact 
that actual worth is appreciated and sustained; all 
these causes combined produce the most pleasurable 
operatic entertainments in the world, at the Court 
Theatre of Dresden. Tannhaeuser, interpreted there, 
was to music what Charles Leland's version of the 
story is to literature, — a refined, idealized golden 
Venusberg, entrancing the imagination and captivat- 
ing — the judgment ! Charming, but perilous. 

Der Freischiitz celebrated its birthday. Oberon and 
The Huguenots brought us soul to soul with Meyer- 
beer and Weber; and I was not consoled for my 
parting with a source of such unlimited enjoyment 
till "Der Troubadour," in the Imperial Theatre at 
Vienna, transported me on Verdi's magic strains be- 
yond all regret. 



DRESDEN. 149 

King John managed to pass his time pleasantly in 
spite of poverty. He looked across the theatre at 
his queen, in her frilled cap and gigot sleeves, with 
amazing resignation ; and at the end of the opera he 
had his revenge on American spendthrifts and profes- 
sors ; for they were obliged to be squeezed into an 
ignominious heap in the vestibule, while his Majesty 
and the queen, his gentleman-in-waiting, her lady-in- 
waiting, the two princes, and the two princesses, and 
their guests, were separately droskiedj the link-boys 
sprang on behind the droskies, held out the blazing 
flambeau on either side, and royalty plunged into the 
darkness and storm, leaving some of us about as 
cheerful as the prophetic ravens that croaked on the 
battlements of the Thane of Cawdor ! 

But it is as true in Germany as in France, that 
royalty is most deliberate when intrenched behind 
palace guards. 

I trust I will be pardoned for the moral or mental 
obliquity that made it so hard for me to discern that 
divinity that hedges in modern kings. I found my- 
self speculating on their policy more often, and yet 
with all my irreverence I was not ungrateful. In 
every epistle to my brethren at Philadelphia, I ex- 
pressed most hearty thanks for the delightful enter- 
tainments afforded me, from the Sunday concerts on 
the Pincio under the auspices of His Holiness the 
Pope, to the Sunday races on the Champs de Mars. 

All Catholic governments pay strict attention to the 
amusements of the people, but, alas ! at every feast there 



150 A WOMAN S EXPERIENCES IN EUROPE. 

is a Diogenes curled under the table, and he catches 
all the lees of the wine thrown out by the wary ones. 
When the shrewd guests take advantage of the 
king's intoxication, Diogenes is too prudent to inter- 
fere with destiny. Besides, he believes in it, he is a 
philosopher. Court fools are out of fashion. Hence 
Protestant policy — Instruct All. 



CHAPTER XV. 

CHRISTMAS EVE IN A GERMAN CITY. 

CHRISTMAS EVE in a German city is some- 
thing- to be recollected with intense pleasure, 
and all the Christmas carols of old German poets, the 
legends and fairy spectacles of pantomime renown, 
float through the imagination with the remembrance. 
In the new market of Dresden, covering a very large 
platz or square, arranged in covered booths, are ever- 
greens in urns, baskets, wreaths, and bouquets, with 
wax candles already ingeniously fastened on the 
branches, gilded cherubs suspended over them, repre- 
senting the Christ-child, so beautifully named by 
Martin Luther, gold and silver apples, swinging on 
gay ribands from each bough, dolls in the costume 
of every nation, some even personating flowers, such 
as the morning-glory, the calyx and tendrils forming 
a bewitching little cap. But beware ! raise that cap 
at your peril ! Your nostrils are assailed by salts of 
ammonia for the toilette of Miss Lydia Languish. 
There is a pretty rose. If you clasp this little lady 
to your heart, be careful. She parts at the waist, and 
concealed in the folds of her dress of rose-leaves are 
little bottles of perfume for ladies' handkerchiefs. 

151 



152 A WOMAN S EXPERIENCES IN EUROPE. 

Toys of the most various and wonderful mechanism 
tempt the crowds of mothers and sisters, personating 
Santa-Claus, and the cheapness of the articles causes 
as much astonishment to Americans as their beautiful 
finish. 

There is an hour in the day when children only 
are allowed to sell. Oh, what a pretty sight ! On 
trays and stands, in baskets and on barrows, the little 
ones carry their offerings, many of them having actu- 
ally made the toys and carved the images for sale. 
You cannot resist this appeal, and well are you repaid 
for purchasing. A dozen childish voices call after 
you, grateful for the favor to their companion : 
" Thanks, lady, may our Father's blessing and many 
happy New- Years be yours!" As evening comes 
on, the booths are lighted, the store-windows glitter 
with their holiday ornaments, and in the windows of 
dwellings we see trees, decorations, and tables loaded 
with gifts, while happy children stand gazing at the 
Christ-child and the hundreds of wax lights, intoxi- 
cated with pleasure, and wishing the birthday of the 
Saviour might come around oftener than once a year. 
By ten o'clock all the stores are closed, the streets 
deserted, and every family gathers around tables 
loaded with gifts, Christmas-cake and coffee being 
served as generously as the innumerable wishes for 
many returns of the happy occasion. In spite of sin 
and sorrow, this earth has its sunny hours that seem 
reflections of the glories we anticipate in the world 
for which our probation here is fitting us. 



CHRISTMAS EVE IN A GERMAN CITY. I53 

Twelve o'clock ! The chimes ring out clear and 
strong on the frosty midnight air, and from every 
street, over every bridge of the Elbe, people are hurry- 
ing to prayers. Desiring to see how royalty heralded 
the birthday of our Saviour, we joined a crowd that 
carried us into the Court Church. 

By the light of many tapers and torches we find 
our way through the old town to the Court Church. 
We stand in the shadow of a great pile of dark stone, 
massive and imposing in appearance, but with no 
grace or symmetry in the style of architecture, the 
plainest of the Italian order. From the left side in 
the second story a covered gallery, with windows look- 
ing from both sides of it, extends across the street to 
the Palace, for the use of the royal family, who by 
this passage walk into their boxes over the high altar, 
and present themselves before the congregation as 
devout worshippers in the faith of the Roman Catho- 
lic Church. The religion of Saxony is Protestant ; 
but in 1697, Augustus 11. abjured the faith of his 
fathers in order to secure the crown of Poland. So, 
while the court is Catholic, the subjects are Lutheran. 
Entering the Church, we were ushered by a woman 
in attendance "to good seats." Looking towards the 
royal boxes, whose windows opened with sliding 
sashes into the church, we beheld the King and 
Queen kneeling, with their prayer-books and wax 
candles on \hQ prie-dietch&forQ them — the Prince and 
Princess Albert, and the Prince and Princess George, 
in the opposite box. It is impossible to convey an 



154 A woman's experiences in Europe* 

idea of the impressiveness of the scene. Each 
worshipper kneeling and holding a lighted taper to 
enable him to read the prayers, there being no gas in 
the church. The tapers were all of different-colored 
wax, some forming baskets, bouquets, and figures of 
every description. It was curious to see the flame 
creeping around each object, diminishing as it traced 
the design. At least two thousand people were 
bowed in silent prayer, the rays from their candles 
forming one luminous halo, while high up in the 
arches and around the massive pillars a gloom of 
darkness spread like a pall over the death-like cold 
church, that never is heated, and where my heart 
seemed congealed. 

The service of the Mass finished, a burst of music 
from the organ-gallery, up in the gloom, caused all 
to glance up as they took their seats and set the 
tapers on a railing before them. A coronal of glitter- 
ing stars illumined the frescoings in the ceiling, and as 
the voices of the singers, cultivated to perfection in 
the Conservatoire of Berlin, came floating in strains 
of heavenly melody, it seemed a fitting announce- 
ment of the birth of Emmanuel from an angelic 
choir, composed of the entire operatic corps that had 
an hour previous concluded their carnal chants to 
Robert le Diable. 

The choruses, joined with the deep rolling tones 
of a splendid organ by Silberman, were grand beyond 
expression. As the last notes died away, the royal 
family left their boxes, their attendants gathered up 



CHRISTMAS EVE IN A GERMAN CITY. I55 

the gilded books and golden taper-stands, the priests 
and attendants left the altar, and we crowded out into 
the street, so cold, so horribly chilled, that we vowed 
we would wait till summer-time before venturing into 
that church again. It is singular how much cold the 
Europeans can breathe in while they envelop them- 
selves in furs and woollen clothes that keep them in a 
constant glow. Our American lungs seem to be of 
different material, and suffer congestions and all sorts 
of agony, that all the Martzenbier and coffee of 
Deutschland will not alleviate. 

On the next morning, Christmas day, remembering 
our vow, we refused to go and hear the Mass sung by 
the opera troupe in the Court Church, and we visited 
the picture galleries. Grosser Garten, and skating 
parks, Avhere we met more Americans than Germans, 
the latter enjoying their family reunions at home, 
while we were seeking distraction from thoughts that 
would force themselves upon us of scenes in former 
years, when we mingled on these holidays with dear 
friends, " whom the rude jostles of the world have 
severed from us, and cast far beyond our reach." 
How happy we made our waiters, chambermaids, and 
the children who brought our clothes from the laun- 
dry in great two-story baskets strapped to their backs, 
by giving them a small silver coin ! Their wages are 
so trifling that ten cents to a German servant is more 
than a dollar to an Americanized Biddy. 

At the dinner-table our turkey was served with 
rose-kraut^ that is, sweet sour-kraut, and chestnut-sauce. 



156 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

The latter dish is really delicious. The chestnuts of 
Europe are very large, and when steamed, mashed, 
and strained, they form a most appetizing sauce for 
almost any kind of meat. Shelled and preserved 
whole in syrup, afterwards glazed and set in little 
crimped papers of different colors, they make a pretty 
variety on a table of sweetmeats. The Germans are 
as ingenious in their cuisine as the French ; but as a 
general thing, their sweet-sour dishes and sour-sweet 
entrees are not so palatable to American tastes. If 
our housekeepers at home understood economy as it 
is practised in Europe, many families might feast 
sumptuously where they now waste. A German, 
French, or Italian cook can compose a dinner of the 
leavings of a previous meal, and it will be superior in 
every way to some of the most — of course there is 
no use finishing that sentence, the reader has seen it 
a thousand times. Not enjoyment and not sorrow is 
the traveller's destined end or way solely; but to 
economize time so that each to-morrow finds him 
nearer the end of his journey than he was to-day. 

Art is long — miles long in the Dresden Gallery. 
Ah, we are on sacred ground ! Away with all levity, 
for clouds of witnesses are about us, watching the 
holy inspirations that rise from reverent hearts as in- 
cense before the shrines of mighty masters — Raphael, 
Carlo Dolci, Correggio, Guido, Andrea del Sarto, 
Titian, Paul Veronese, Murillo, Rubens, Rembrandt, 
Holbein, Van Dyck, Wouvermans, Teniers, Diirer, 
Claude, Dosso Dossi, — their name is legion. The 



CHRISTMAS EVE IN A GERMAN CITY. I57 

whole world is more beautiful for their having lived 
in it. We feel here the presence of spirits greater 
than those of kings or conquerors. We are mute 
before works that artists dare not criticise ; and only 
to avert the charge of not having appreciated this 
wonderful gallery, we offer inducements to all travel- 
lers to visit Dresden, even if they sacrifice what may 
seem greater attractions. I, cannot promise that all 
the glories of those art-treasures will be revealed to 
the amateur's eye ; but I can give the assurance that 
a sincere desire to refine and elevate one's nature, a 
scrupulous examination of the master-strokes, marked 
out for our inspection by hundreds of devotees at 
these shrines, will be rewarded by moments of rap- 
turous pleasure, when there seems to be transmitted 
to the beholder of these works gleams of the glories 
of creation not unlike the inspiration that originated 
them. 

We find in the gallery many American students as 
well as English and German, whose pale faces, fixed 
gaze, and thin bodies testify to the faithful use of the 
time and means allowed them for study. American 
parents expect too much of their children in a short 
time. A European gives his son or daughter means 
to live comfortably in a city where they talk Art, 
dream Art, and worship Art, for eight years, and then 
expects him to begin to paint for profit after his re- 
turn home. An American expects a child to be gone 
two years, at the outside, spend a small fortune, and 
bring home a museum of his own productions. Which 



158 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

is more reasonable, and who can wonder that so many 
are disappointed? 

New England is not exempt from this challenge. A 
pale, sweet face smiles acquiescence, and memory 
brings to my ear a touching acknowledgment. " We are 

so much obliged for the introduction to , and the 

notice of Harry's last picture. If he had not sold it, we 
would have been sadly embarrassed this winter ; for they 
have no idea at home how impossible it is to live even 
in Germany without some assistance." And there are 
hundreds moved by the same spirit of ambition sitting 
moody and dreamy before these works, rapt and un- 
fitted for rational intercourse with the common world, 
while hour after hour, day after day, they live with 
people of the past, of the spirit-world, of the imagi- 
nation of master-minds, gazing into the liquid eyes 
of Murillo's holy children, into the dazzling, scintil- 
lating lights reflected from the face of Correggio's 
child Jesus, that cause the saints to veil their eyes 
from its intense power, follow the revels of Guido's 
saucy " Bacchus," Teniers' *' Village Fetes," till the 
fever of enthusiasm ends with the production of a 
work worthy the teachings of those glorious old 
masters. 

If our philanthropists — only rich men are called 
philanthropists — would earn fame that will live after 
them, let them encourage the American art-students in 
foreign lands. May I live to see the day when the White 
House, the Capitol, and our State-Houses will all 
be the receptacles of prize-works of American artists. 



CHRISTMAS EVE IN A GERMAN CITY. I59 

Not those only who make their residence permanently 
in Florence claim the monopoly of American orders, 
make effigies of our honored men, insultingly boast 
of having mutilated their own work rated beyond other 
men's appreciation, and then, when a young Ameri- 
can girl presents her immaculate art-child with all the 
pride of patriotism and well-earned satisfaction, send 
their egotistic, selfish protest to America, while they 
are chiselling my Lady This and my Lord That by 
the cargo for England. 

All honor to the name that has dignified the repu- 
tation of American artists in Europe, but we should 
not submit to the tyranny of monopoly that would 
brand other honored names as misers, and crush out 
all aspirations of our rising young talent. I have 
said. While we have been ventilating our righteous 
indignation, some of our art-enthusiasm may have 
escaped us, so let us enjoy the snow falling over 
Dresden in great flakes and rugged balls, so thickly 
that it is impossible to see distinctly any object on 
the opposite side-walk. We have no notion of leav- 
ing the Zwinger, but we . stand outside long enough 
to notice how the new gallery is added to the quad- 
rangle of museums designed originally by Augustus 
II. as a grand palace. 

Let us re-enter the comfortably warmed hall, 
where our wrappings and umbrella are taken from us 
by a genuine old German woman, who smilingly as- 
sists us, giving us an extra pat on the shoulder for 
each renewal of our visit to the Gallery, that she and 



l60 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

all the old people of Dresden love as they love the 
heirlooms that adorn the walls of their own houses. 

We have one object in our thoughts ; and leisurely 
ascending the grand corridor, admiring the carvings, 
frescoes, and style of the magnificent stairway that 
was intended to be the private passage to a palace 
through which only crowned heads might pass, we 
do not even pause at the door of the print-room, 
where there are two hundred and fifty thousand en- 
gravings in portfolios convenient for visitors to ex- 
amine, and a thousand choice drawings of the masters 
are framed ; even the Tribunes, where the splendid 
tapestries are hung, detain us but a few moments, for 
there is a carnival of beauty and grace awaiting us in 
the long vista of time-mellowed tintings through 
which we pass to the one sacred shrine of the great 
Raphael. 

We return again and again to the Madonna San 
Sisto, for we remember that St. Barbara, a vision of 
loveliness, is represented kneeling with intense devo- 
tion before the Holy Child ; and Pope Sixtus, envel- 
oped in velvet and ermine so cumbersome, we are 
tempted to remove the heavy robe, kneels also before 
the King of kings. We desire to impress these 
clearly on our memory. But again we are entranced. 
We see only the rapture, love, and heavenly calm of 
the Madonna, who clasps the wondering Infant 
already so startled at the material world about him, 
that we fear he will float away on the clouds and 
drapery waving before our mystified senses. The 



CHRISTMAS EVE IN A GERMAN CITY. l6l 

two cherub watchers smile at our fears, and a cloud 
of angels hovering round the Mother and Child 
guard well the inexplicable mystery ! 

Enough for to-day. We return through thirty-two 
galleries, pass two thousand frames in which are five 
hundred holy families, but we cannot see them, our 
eyes are filled with Raphael's wondrous vision ! 



CHAPTER XVI. 

GREEN VAULTS AND MEISSEN FACTORY. 

THE royal palace of Dresden is the most un- 
gainly pile of heavy architecture in Europe. 
Yet it has great attractions to the lovers of art in the 
frescoes in the throne-room by Bendemann, and in 
the ball-room are some very fine paintings, the sub- 
jects principally from the mythology and lives of the 
ancient Greeks. On the ground floor is a range of 
apartments called the Green Vaults, from the color 
of the hangings with which the chambers were 
originally decorated. In these green vaults are such 
treasures of wealth that one feels in walking through 
them as if it might all be a trick of the imagination, 
and some slight mischance might cause the magnifi- 
cent sight to be instantly dispelled. Before the dis- 
covery of America, the Freiberg silver mines were 
the source of the great wealth of the Saxon princes. 
Although the Saxon king is now the poorest in all 
Europe, in the very walls of his palace are treasures 
and costly objects more gorgeous and dazzling than 
any other monarch possesses, handed down from 
reign to reign since the time of Augustus the Strong, 
in 1724. There are exquisite carvings in the precious 

162 



GREEN VAULTS AND MEISSEN FACTORY. 163 

metals. One is an equestrian statue of Charies II. 
of England, in the character of St. George, cut out 
of a piece of solid cast-iron. In this same room are 
bronzes of rare workmanship, one a crucifix by John 
of Bologna. In the ivory room are several wonder- 
ful pieces of carving. One is a cup carved out of a 
single piece of ivory only sixteen inches high, on 
which are one hundred and forty-two figures, illustrat- 
ing the story of the Foolish Virgins, the Fall of Lu- 
cifer, and the wicked angels. Each face is a distinct 
portrait, and it is said to have taken several years to 
accomplish the work. In the third room are Floren- 
tine mosaics, objects in amber, paintings in enamel, 
and engraved shells and ostrich-eggs, carved and or- 
namented with jewels and rare gildings. In the 
fourth room are the gold and silver plate that adorned 
the banqueting tables of the Saxon palace in the 
olden times. Each goblet and dish is a wonder of 
costliness and ingenious art. The fifth room glitters 
with vessels formed of the half-precious stones 
lapis-lazuli, chalcedony, agates, and rock-crystal, as 
well as two goblets formed of antique gems, each 
valued at six thousand dollars. A most curious col- 
lection of caricature figures of men and animals made 
of single pearls are found in the sixth room. The 
largest pearl in the world, a pearl the size of a hen's 
egg, cut into the famous court-dwarf of the king of 
Spain, is one of these royal toys. In the seventh are 
the suits of armor, studded with diamonds and gems 
of every description, some of the regalia being literT 



164 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

ally made of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, 
and pearls. In the last and eighth apartment are 
treasures that years of labor and mines of wealth 
furnished, the most splendid gifts for kings and 
princes. One trinket cost fifty-eight thousand four 
hundred dollars, and employed an artist eight years 
in making it. After all, it is only a toy, representing 
the court of the Great Mogul, the Emperor Au- 
renzebe, seated on his throne surrounded by his 
guards and courtiers, in the costumes described by 
Travernier, the expression of each of the hundred 
and thirty-two figures in pure gold enamelled being 
distinct and excellent. The tent, throne, steps, ter- 
races of the ground, are all of gold, the whole stand- 
ing on a pedestal about two feet in diameter. Ding- 
linger, the court jeweller at Dresden, was the artisan, 
who was twenty years employed in similar beautiful 
but useless work. In the room where these articles 
are displayed, are masses of diamonds ; the largest 
in the world, the famous black diamond ; the largest 
sardonyx known, six and a half inches long and 
four and a quarter broad ; sapphires, the largest a gift 
from Peter the Great ; Martin Luther's two rings ; a 
mass of solid silver from the Freiberg mines,, and 
the Saxon Regalia, of which the buttons, collar, 
sword-hilt, and scabbard are all of diamonds ; the 
green diamond or brilliant, weighing one hundred 
and sixty grains, is among them. 

The only time any of these treasures are used, is 
when at the reception of ambassadors from foreign 



GREEN VAULTS AND MEISSEN FACTORY. 165 

courts, the King, Queen, the two Princes and their 
Spanish and Portuguese wives, array themselves in 
jewels from head to foot, and glitter like the fairy 
queens who figured " years and years ago." What a 
contrast to their usual impoverished air ! The Queen 
of England would be insulted if her children's nurse 
were to present herself before her in the dress that I 
have seen the Queen of Saxony wear in her opera 
box. However, the jewels in the Queen's vaults are 
hereditary court possessions, and the present owners 
have no more right to sell them than you or I have, 
so our sympathy is more appropriate there than scorn. 
Nothing but a stiff neck and a fearful face-ache pre- 
vented my having a good opportunity to describe a 
charity-ball at which five hundred Americans figured, 
and the royal family looked on, for the benefit of the 
deaf mutes of Dresden. Two prescriptions of opium, 
and several more of Martzenbier, to say nothing 
of dishes of broken ice and turreens of hot soup, 
furnished me with a festivity of my own. I think I 
never enjoyed the face-ache more in my life. That 
evening will long live in my memory as a " unique 
experience," and I must not forget to acknowledge 
the timely intervention of a New York editor's wife, 
who hearing my groans and my friend's lamentations, 
called like a good Samaritan at my room, and lifted 
the wayfarer from a slough of despondency even to 
the empyrean of bliss. When all others had fled to 
the ball, her sympathy remained, and while I detest 
all other malt liquors, I shall ever hold that bottle of 



l66 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

Martzenbier in grateful remembrance of our curious 
meeting, when, 



• Like ants upon the hills of life, 
We crossed each other and were gone ! " 



■^1 



I 



A more serious loss, through that miserable cold, 
was a trip to Berlin. A day was fixed for starting to ■ 
Vienna, and here I was mewed up with a cold. I 

The day before we left Dresden I grew desperate, " 
and insisted on risking a trip to Meissen, where the 
celebrated Dresden china is manufactured. Mrs. A. 
and myself composed the party. 

After a cold ride of ten miles along the Elbe, pass- i 
ing a succession of charming winter scenes, vine-hills, 
old towers, groves, minsters, and wind-mills that 
might have borne an encounter with Don Quixote 
and held their own, we reached Meissen, a town 
built in terraces, the oldest portion occupying the 
heights, and the newer running along the banks of 
the Elbe, containing a population of eight thousand 
inhabitants. 

Employing a dienstman or guide to conduct us by 
the shortest route to the factory, we soon entered an 
immense building, formed in a hollow square, and 
five stories high. On the first floor the porcelain 
ware, completed and ready for sale, was exhibited. 
Chandeliers, candelabras, ornamented with a profu- 
sion of fine flowers, and painted exquisitely, made 
entirely of porcelain, — elegant vases, with richest de- 
signs of the season, or copies from most celebrated 



GREEN VAULTS AND MEISSEN FACTORY. 167 

paintings of saints and heroes, with the expression 
wonderfully true, — oval medallions of Raphaels, Mu- 
rillos, and Correggios, Madonnas, finished with por- 
celain gilt frames that defied detection, — card-tables, 
with the loveliest Venetian scenes, their coloring 
so rich and soft, that it seemed impossible they had 
ever been baked in an oven ! But I must not antici- 
pate. 

Entering our names in the registering-book, and 
paying seven groschen, or dhowt Jiftee7t cents apiece, 
we were furnished with a guide who conducted us 
through the factory, beginning in the composition- 
room, where the clay and water mixed are left for 
some days to form paste, the consistence, of course, 
being according to the articles for which it is re- 
quired. After it is moulded into dinner-plates, or 
vessels of service of any description, it is so chalky 
or crumbly that the slightest touch will powder or 
mar the article. Bowls, basins, and all around deep 
dishes are placed upside down on a stand like those 
milliners use for bonnet-shows, that revolve when 
moved by a crank under the moulder's feet. The 
rotary motion makes the inside perfectly smooth and 
round, while a knife and pointed stick, used with 
marvellous accuracy, shape and elaborate the outside 
as the operator fancies. 

One fact we noticed was, that the finer the work 
the older the workman, with but one exception — that 
was a pale-faced boy, with a spinal affection, who was 
so absorbed in the copying of Raphael's Madonna, 



l68 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

that before he noticed our presence, we caught the 
rapt expression reflected on his countenance by his 
subject, and which gave place to one of patient suf- 
fering when our guide interrupted him for our ben- 
efit. The work was so beautiful that I could not 
resist purchasing a copy — a porcelain medallion, 
oval, resembling the finest oil-painting when framed, 
about four inches by three in size. In the factory, 
these cost nine dollars ; imported to America, they 
would be twenty dollars. In some rooms women 
are employed moulding the arms, limbs, robes, veils 
fine as lace-work, flowers, leaves, and edging, with 
fine steel instruments, the fringed dresses of figures, 
or cutting out the traced patterns on the edges of 
plates and card-receivers, with as much ease as a 
lady cuts away the ground-work of a transferred 
collar. 

It is impossible to appreciate this porcelain work 
till one has seen the labor of manufacturing it. After 
the moulding is finished, the articles are placed in clay 
vessels or crucibles, and arranged in great ovens that 
hold as much as four crates of china each. The door- 
way is built up and sealed. 

An iron tubing with glass in the end, like a tele- 
scope inserted, so that the superintendent can see 
when the fire has burnt out, which happens in two 
or three days. After this first baking, the tracing or 
designing of the pattern or picture is done ; then the 
coloring and gilding, and then back to the ovens for a 
second baking. In the composition of highly glazed 



GREEN VAULTS AND MEISSEN FACTORY. 169 

china, feldspar and mica are used with the clay. 
After the second burning, gilded and highly colored 
articles are polished with agates on wooden handles, 
the agate in every shape, like a dentist's instru- 
ment, to suit the flower, border, or surface that must 
be polished. 

The manufacture of porcelain requires artists, not 
puddlers and daubers. The desks of these artists 
are arranged in line, the rooms in beautiful order, 
decorated with flowers growing luxuriantly in the 
warm and equable temperature required for the work ; 
birds in fancy cages ; works of art, from which copies 
are chosen; and each workman or woman sits be- 
side a window that commands a view of the valley of 
the Elbe, where gems of natural scenery abound. 

At the door of the factory we found our dienstmmt 
and a sleigh — a small green basket on runners — 
with a Polish-looking individual, enveloped in furs, 
astride the dasher, to drive us, and the dienstman 
kneeling on a leather step behind the sleigh. The horse 
was yoked to a pole that was fastened on one side of 
the sleigh, and a single trace on the other. Of course 
we ran sideways. Even in Dresden they harness in 
the same awkward way, and going round the corners 
is a performance as perilous as it is ludicrous to be- 
hold. Away we went, up a spiral road that led to 
the old castle on the heights above the town, through 
tunnelled houses, over old battlements, and, at last, 
into the castle-yard, where the ancient tower, sixty 
feet high, and the Gothic castle and cathedral, excited 
8 ' 



I/O A WOMAN S EXPERIENCES IN EUROPE. 

our wonder and admiration. They were built in the 
thirteenth century, by Otto I., Emperor, and Edith, 
the founders of the Saxon Hnes. An altar-piece, by 
Cranach, of our Saviour, with the Virgin and St. John, 
in oil, also a painting on glass in one of the win- 
dows, by the same artist, were very remarkable for 
their correct finish and fresh appearance after so many 
years. A sarcophagus in bronze of Frederick the 
Warlike, and a number of brasses laid in the aisles, 
engraved with the effigies of the early Saxon princes, 
besides hundreds of figures and groupings in stone 
and marble of the Apostles and Church Fathers, were 
specimens of the laborious, elaborate, and beautiful 
workmanship of the early Saxon artisans. The castle 
formerly occupied by the Saxon princes is now under- 
going repairs, and will at any time form a stronghold 
for future refugees. 

With this interesting visit, that no traveller to Dres- 
den should miss, I might say farewell to the city 
where I would like to live always, but " our society " 
will be entertained by an account of the way in which 
intermarriages are effected between American purses 
and German titles. 

It is very simple. I witnessed the process. A 
private ball is given by an American mamma. Pre- 
viously the daughter is presented at court, after a 
series of humiliating concessions on her part to the 
requirements of thirteen court ladies, on whom she 
must call first, collectively, to pass inspection and be 
voted for as a candidate, if found worthy of presenta- 



GREEN VAULTS AND MEISSEN FACTORY. I7I 

tion to their German Highnesses, and then call sep- 
arately on each ; after which this committee deigns to 
leave a card — but not their carriage — at Miss Amer- 
ica's door. At the presentation, where all the 
candidates stand in line, and the royal cortege pass 
along, merely bowing an acknowledgment to the 
usher's introduction, no scarcity of Prussian and 
Saxon officers atone for the coldness of royalty by 
heaping attentions on the young ladies. The king, 
queen, and princes having played a game of cards, 
the gentlemen-in-waiting handling the cards for them, 
they retire, and the officers dance with Fifth Avenue. 
What enchantment ! 

Well, at the ball given by " dear mamma," all these 
splendid officers attend. The next morning — I speak 
what I do know — the officers call, and the favored 
one is accepted. Papa invests some thousands in 
government stocks, as a security that his grand- 
children will not be paupers on the Saxon govern- 
ment, and the day is fixed. They are married — 
and, occasionally, humiliations similar to that experi- 
enced by the Marquis of Lome occur to show Miss 
America that all that glitters is not gold ! 



i 



CHAPTER XVII. 

A WINTER JOURNEY THROUGH BOHEMIA. 

DEAR READER, permit me to congratulate you. 
We are off on a grand tour without pencil or 
paper for a single note. No use for us to write up, 
when we get to Venice. I did it when I made the 
tour without you, and I religiously jotted down every- 
thing of importance from Venice to Rome; but I 
was so astonished one day on the Roman Campagna, 
at a horseback feat of Miss Harriet Hosmer, that I 
lost my note-book with my self-possession ; and no 
doubt it has long since given comfort to a picturesque 
shepherd, in the shape of pipe-lighters. May he never 
rue it ! 

Mrs. A. and myself, on arriving at the depot in Dres- 
den for the direct route to Vienna, by the way of 
Prague, found there Mr. and Mrs. B. intent on the 
same journey. It was a most delightful rencontre, for 
which I particularly have many causes to be grateful. 

Mr. B. was a generous, intelligent traveller, not 
averse to lady compagnons-du-voyage, and free from 
the narrow suspicions of travellers generally ; while 
his good, noble wife was a pattern of patience and 

amiability, and keenly alive to the peculiar interest or 

172 



A WINTER JOURNEY THROUGH BOHEMIA. I73 

charm of certain features that many travellers over- 
look in their promiscuous sight-seeing. 

Mr. B. at once undertook the financiering of the 
party, semi-weekly settlements being agreed upon ; 
Mrs. A. and Mr. B. the selection of apartments at 
hotels ; and Mrs. B. and myself resigned ourselves 
entirely to their generalship — except on one occa- 
sion, worthy of note, further on. 

In a previous work I have described the valley of 
the Elbe as it appeared on the evening of our depart- 
ure from Dresden. The most interesting object was 
the famous fortress, the Koenigstein, that has never 
been taken by an enemy, even Napoleon's batteries 
failing, though planted on an opposite mountain 160 
feet higher. These columnar rocks, rising 1200 feet 
in the air, stand in solemn grandeur, separated by 
chasms that must be filled up in time with the masses 
of rock and avalanches of earth constantly descend- 
ing from the precipitous sides of the Titan monu- 
ments. What a convulsion of nature was that which 
split and severed, with the sharp precision of light- 
ning-strokes, these mountains of solid rock twelve 
hundred feet high! 

On through the valley we steamed in spite of storms 
and snow-drifts, till our road branching off, we as- 
cended the Erzsgebirge, a branch of the Bohmerwald 
or Bohemian Mountains, and soon found ourselves in 
Bohemia, the Scotland of the Continent to poets and 
novelists. 

Railway-stations afford no very great facilities for 



I 



174 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

the traveller's acquaintance with the country he is 
passing through, especially at night, and freezing 
cold nights at that ; so I contented myself with 
glimpses from my car-window of Bohemian forests, 
groups of picturesque-looking peasants, in great va- 
riety of costumes, a blackened vineyard here, a moss- 
covered ruin there ; at the intersection of two broad 
paths a way-side cross, planted over the corpse of a 
suicide ; up the hill a graceful shrine, where the herds- 
men offer petitions and praise for their safety in their 
lone watches on the bleak mountains ; and from every i 
eminence of the hilly province villages could be seen 
sprinkled through the valleys, as the kreutzers are 
showered from the hands of German princes. One of 
these districts contained a hundred villages owned by 
a single nobleman ! 

After six hours we reached Prague. And as Mrs. I 
A. had no inclination to stop there, I concluded to go 
on with her to Vienna, where Mr. and Mrs. B. would 
rejoin us. We missed a great deal of course by not 
stopping, but there were so many wonders before us, 
that I gave up Prague with little reluctance, and after 
all, I saw the obelisks marking the famous spot where 
the Thirty Years' War began, because the Bohemian 
Protestants held their liberties as sacred as their 
duties. The Cathedral of St. Vitus and the shrine of 
St. John, the patron-saint of all the bridges I missed, 
also the pocket-handkerchief of the Virgin Mary, 
two thorns from the Saviour's crown, and a lot of 
other testimonials of the lying impositions of thievish 



A WINTER JOURNEY THROUGH BOHEMIA. iy$ 

monks, who rob their victims of more than the 
paltry kreutzers for which they barter their own 
shrivelled souls, — they steal from them the child-like 
innocent faith in a God of love and tender charity, 
making him an extortionate monster to their simple 
eyes. The whole night through Bohemia, over 
another chain of the Bohmerwald called the Mora- 
vian hills, into Moravia, was a succession of naps, 
cups of coffee, " Nein, nein," to blue dishes of raw 
sausage and black-bread, and the hasty snatches at 
herby fowls devoured in the railway carriage, grunt- 
ing Poles who took exception to the porcelain tablets 
on which the sentence " ein geraucht nicht! " debarred 
them from the privilege of making our journey in- 
tolerable with cigar fumes, and a series of funny ad- 
ventures and mishaps that only the traveller through 
Bohemia would appreciate. It would be a pity to 
mar any future traveller's amusement by a premature 
revelation. Fortunately for me, the little German I 
knew aided me enough to prevent the penalties one 
must pay for entire ignorance of the language of 
any country through which one journeys; but it 
seemed as if tongues became thicker and thicker 
till they culminated at Vienna, where, in the largest 
and grandest depot I saw in all my travels, twenty 
custom-house officers assailed our ears in twenty 
different dialects, not one of which we had ever 
thought possible for human articulation ! Mrs. A. 
was suddenly afflicted with the face-ache, and cov- 
ered her hood close over her ears. I tried desper- 



1/6 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

ately to comprehend and explain, but finally with a 
grin of despair yielded my trunk-key to the whole 
band of orators, and beheld the phenomenon not ordi- 
narily mentioned in the catalogue of man's feelings, 
namely, a most ridiculous curiosity. How those 
men peered into boxes and bundles, thumbed and 
fingered articles on which no duties could be im- 
posed, but which excited their wonder, till finally, 
seeing one officer who appeared to walk as if his 
authority was not to be despised, I appealed in my 
best German to him, and, lo ! with rage on his brow, 
and anything but music in his voice, he accosted the 
whole party of marauders, who restored the contents 
of our trunks, and in five minutes they were on the 
box of our carriage, and we on our way to the grand 
hotel of the Archduke Charles. 

The grand stairway, ornamented with growing 
plants and flowers, the fine halls, handsome chambers 
furnished with wrought-iron furniture, painted with 
exquisite taste, floors carpeted with velvet, fine lace- 
curtains and bed-hangings, of this splendid hotel in 
the most expensive city in Europe, were almost 
ignored by our weary sleepy eyes, and after a bath 
and breakfast, I betook me to my bed, muttering in 
sympathy with Hood's morning meditations. 

" So here I '11 lie, my morning calls deferring. 
Till something nearer to the stroke of noon ; 
For one that 's fond precociously of stirring. 
Must be a spoon!" 

It was late in the afternoon when we recovered 



A WINTER JOURNEY THROUGH BOHEMIA. I77 

from the over-fatigue of our fourteen hours' journey, 
in a land where sleeping-cars are unknown, and both 
Mrs. A. and myself were glad to rest at the hotel till 
the following day, when at breakfast, Mr. and Mrs. B. 
joined us again. Now commenced a perfect rush of 
sight-seeing, but Mr. B. was an old traveller, and 
knew how to squeeze into a small space of time a 
vast deal of entertainment. I will give the programme 
from beginning to end, and when I have finished the 
account of our Viennese performances, I will give the 
time total, and let the reader puzzle out the divisions. 
In Dresden, I paid about five cents for the use of a 
daily paper for the time between the moment I gave 
orders for my breakfast (in bed) and the entrance of 
the waiter with the breakfast cooked. I managed the 
amusement corner, the guide to strangers, and a few 
remarks on the preceding day's court-news "in that 
time, and gave up the well-worn journal for some 
other sleepy head to get awake with. A limited 
number of copies are printed, and all loaned out by 
one proprietor. My name was on the list two days 
before I could be accommodated. Shade of Franklin ! 
At Vienna, we breakfasted in the dining-hall, — Mrs. 

A. was free from my Turkish proclivities, — and I 
felt very grand when a half-dozen files of German 
papers were placed on our table, and I was requested 
to translate the programmes for the day. But Mrs. 

B. was a good German scholar, and on her entrance 
I resigned the office of interpreter to my superior, 



1/8 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

contenting myself with a few reflections. in English 
on the dunderheaded masons of Babel. 

"Now, Petite," said Mr. B., "we must have a guide 
and see everything in Vienna that any one ever thinks 
of lookmg at, and if you are not satisfied then, I 
shall never come this way again ! " 

Mr. B. knew very well it was n't likely he ever 
would go that way again ; this was his sixth visit. In 
retort for his noinme de voyage I dubbed him Mon- 
sieur le Plus, and it was funny to see fellow-travellers 
stare at the two people named as they seemed to 
suppose, Small and Larger! It would have taken 
two or three dozens of Larger to make one Cardiff 
Criant. But he was a great ladies'-man, and went 
over more ground in a given time than any one man 
I ever heard of except Weston. As to patience • 
1 was really afraid some unprincipled sculptor would 
hold him m durance vile as a model for a new monu- 
ment When we women were raging angry, he 
laughed so hard it brought on a premature appetite 
for his next meal, and he could be no more over- 
whelmed with upbraidings than he could with bundles 
lo the good-nature of Monsieur le Plus we owed 
many an escape from fine, and perhaps imprisonment- 
for the amount of smuggled goods from Viennese 
amber to Sorrentian book- racks literally lugged 
through custom-houses, in all sorts of bundles bv 
our noble friend, would be read with dismay 'if I 
could remember the whole. But, oh, I had a sweet 
revenge on that smiling countenance for the agonies 



A WINTER JOURNEY THROUGH BOHEMIA. I79 

of self-control it made me endure in the custom- 
houses, when we visited the wonderful places in 
Rome, and Monsieur le Plus stood reverently gazing 
at rusty chains, solitary teeth, locks of hair, pieces of 
the true cross, enough to build barracks for the 
French army, and sculls of St. Paul graduating in 
size from the time of his boyhood till ripe old age, 
— then was my time. He could not resist my grim- 
aces, and the enraged monks would hustle us all 
out of the relic departments, scarcely acknowledging 
the fees they nevertheless secured with a good grip. 

Happy Madame le Plus, and happy Mrs. B. and 
Petite, with such an escort on a winter voyage. Un- 
happy Madame le Plus and unhappy Petite, when we 
three visited the land where we basked in vernal 
luxuries, at the cost of our captain's health, that in- 
vidious Neapolitan fever almost proving fatal to its 
victim. But I must tell my story straight. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

VIENNA. 

WE were not obliged to advertise for a valet-de- 
place, or go to an intelligence-office ; he was 
actually standing in the doorway of the salle-a- 
manger, studying the probable length of Monsieur le 
Plus's purse, when that gentleman made his sugges- 
tion regarding the expediency of engaging him. It 
seemed like clairvoyance to one not fully initiated 
into the mysteries of Austrian servantism ; but all 
illusions on that score were dispelled after a fair trial. 

In thirty minutes we four pleasure-seekers were" 
seated in a stadt-lohnzvagen — a carriage that had the 
exclusive right to enter private and public court- 
yards, the fiacres and cabs being obliged to dump 
passengers in the street — there are no side-walks in 
Vienna. Rolling through a new city, the third in 
extent and grandeur, and the first in the wealth of its 
nobility, is not an experience to be despised. 

How that valet escaped a permanent curvature of 

the spine, after his four days* service in our employ, is 

a marvel to me to this day. He chattered through 

the signal-window, managing somehow to get his face 

around at the side-window, while his yellow top- 

i8o 



VIENNA. l8l 

boots seemed floating away over the dasher ; and the 
coachman sat through it all with an imperturbable 
gravity that was positively ridiculous. I regret that 
my memory failed to retain that guide's name ; but if 
you go to Vienna, reader, inquire for Pedro, and the 
obliging proprietor of the Archduke Charles will at 
once know whom you call for. 

He has pumpkins and white mice on hand for every 
emergency; palace-doors and opera-boxes fly open 
at his mystic word, and not even the austere House 
of Hapsburg can resist his orders. They all crowd 
into the royal boxes, from the Emperor to the Arch- 
duchess Maria, when Pedro ushers his party into the 
very heart of the orchestra. 

A grand tour of the city, the old and new quarters 
making the same impression as the old and new 
quarters of Paris, was the commencement of our 
programme. A visit to the Imperial Royal picture- 
gallery, the Upper Belvidere next. Joseph H. appro- 
priated this magnificent palace for the treasure-house 
of a collection of the old masters, only second in im- 
portance of all the galleries in Germany. Paul Ve- 
ronese, Titian, Tintoretto, Salvator Rosa, Carlo Dolce, 
Rubens, Guido Reni, Caracci, Guercino, Giordana, 
Rembrandt, Van Es, Fyt, Ruysdael, Teniers, Back- 
hiiysen. Van Dyck, Gerard Dow, Albert Diirer, Van 
Achen, are all radiant in that glorious scintillation of 
spirit colorings. They overwhelmed and oppressed 
me with the vastness and richness of their produc- 
tions, and they themselves but a list of names ! 



l82 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

The art-world owes much to Germany for the pre- 
servation of these priceless models. But we must 
look towards the south for the poetic fancy that will 
resist materialism even in the fine arts. 

In Italy, to-day, art is but '' slumbering on its own 
right arm." She peeps at you in. the peasant's cot- 
tage, and you catch the gleam of soul-light that no 
superstition or oppression can utterly extinguish. 
The wooden toy, the rude stone image offered for a 
few baioches, are treasures that promise the general 
revival of Italian art. 

Pure originality, indigenous to the land whose skies, 
atmosphere, landscape, and marine mists etherealize 
the rudest nature, and curve the very angles of the 
physical man, — grace, poetry, harmony, are synony- 
mous with Italy. 

Let us run through representative studios in Rome 
to define my meaning more sharply. 

A German studio. Figures as stiff as the old 
Saxon Electors, portrayed by Holbein, whether up- 
right, recumbent, or seated. Coloring skilfully man-' 
aged, design so natural, your comments are involun- 
tarily audible. Total effect, — even inspiration is 
material. 

English studio. Exact imitations and clever adap- 
tations of the good parts of all schools, but no more 
originality than Turner's fata-morganic transmissions 
of Claude Lorraine, the former viewed through the 
faint yellow atmosphere of Trafalgar Square, the lat- 
ter through the unearthly atmosphere of Florence. 



VIENNA. 183 

England must be inoculated again, or young Ger- 
many, young Russia, young Italy, young Austria, 
and young America will smother her century-plants 
with their fresh laurel growths. 

French studio. Few strokes in drawing, each one 
a coup de crayon. Figures French, designs French, 
coloring French, effect — French. Any glove-box, 
fan, or piece of furniture imported from Paris will 
illustrate my idea in some measure ; for whatever a 
Frenchman touches is impressed with his nationality, 
from a battle-piece in the Louvre to a brace of cupids 
on your enamelled opera-glass. 

American studio. The most absorbing genius 
reigns here. The terror of the Italian picture-dealer, 
just as Germany is the thorn in the flesh of English 
literati. Sipping dew from every foreign flower, this 
saucy bee hums and drones through his hive, till 
some fine morning he produces honey, not raw dew 
of Italy, Germany, France, or England, but an 
American composition — that excites the admiration 
and fear of the Italian, the jealousy of the German, 
the wonder and applause of the hearty Frenchman, 
and the sneer of the Englishman. A century hence 
that composition will excite in my great-great-grand- 
niece the emotions that Raphael, Michael Angelo, 
Guido, and Domenichino awaken in me now. 

But, go straight from Roger's "Nydia," and Harriet 
Hosmer's "Sleeping Beatrice," to Lombardi's studio 
on the Babuino. A veiled Christ, a waking cupid, a 
sleeping infant, a surprised fawn, a dancing contadina, 



184 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

seize your thoughts, envelop them in a dreamy fold, 
bear your senses beyond the sight of half sculptured 
blocks, heaps of living fragments, beyond the sound 
of the hammer and chisel, — you do not realize that 
these art-objects will remain if you touch them, till 
presently you awake from your revery, half abashed 
at the triumph of the Italian sculptor, who exclaims, 
" The American sympathy for Italian art is our great- 
est stimulus to work on in spite of discouragements. 
But their noble emulation sometimes paralyzes our 
own genius with fear!" 

Poor Pedro ! he has been shaking in the cold while 
we have taken this bold flight from the chambers of 
the upper Belvidere, and we certainly cannot leave 
without a glance at least into the library. And now, 
would that our intelligent usher might make the niis- 
take of the monk who guarded the Bambino, and 
imagine us French instead of American. We may 
not be guilty, but we have a guilty feeling, and indis- 
criminate observers will regard it all the same. And 
what is the trouble ? Look at that glass case. In it 
is a handsome uniform dabbled with blood. Whose 
blood? Maximilian's. A red sash embroidered with 
gold, heavily fringed with gold; but the usher's eyes 
are dimmed with tears ; give him time to master his 
emotion. Now he tells a sad story. Carlotta em- 
broidered that sash, and her last act before she parted 
with Maximilian in Mexico was to tie it for him over 
the uniform that he wore concealed under the mantle 
in which he was led to his ignominious death. Alas, 



VIENNA. 185 

poor, sad woman, crazed with grief. By such lessons 
the world is learning the mockery of crowns ! 

In the church of the Capuchins we followed the 
feeble steps of an old monk, bearing before us a 
lantern, down the dread stairway, where for fifteen 
years a mother followed one of the same brother- 
hood to the vaults, where in the shadow of her child's 
coffin she bewailed the consequences of the Em- 
press's stern decision. Now, Maria Theresa and the 
Archduchess Christine occupy the same dark room. 
The son of the first Napoleon, his grandfather, the 
Emperor Francis L, by his own request placed beside 
this idolized boy-king. Maximilian sleeps here — 
would that poor Carlotta's fitful fever were ended 
too! Eighty royal heads lie low in this tomb, and 
the stranger may approach their coffins, read the in- 
scriptions, examine the massive silver casket that 
contains the remains, of Joseph I., gaze at the un- 
adorned coffin of the governess of Maria Theresa, 
whose request alone could have admitted the dust of 
one less noble to this Imperial tomb. We ascended 
the stairway, grateful that the cares of state and 
anxieties of crowned heads were not added to the 
sorrows which we had come so far to forget. Leav- 
ing the Capuchins, where only the bodies are interred 
of the royal family, we go to the Augustines, where 
the hearts are held in silver urns in the subterranean 
Loretto Chapel. Once a year the present Emperor 
of Austria offers prayers in this terrible gloom to 
the God of light. The monk told us he always went 



l86 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

shuddering and reluctant, and I would have liked to 
tell the monk that with his forlorn, begrimed habit, 
and the extinguishment of his lantern, the torch of 
the Middle Ages would probably cease to recall past 
horrors, and the Emperor of Austria would enjoy the 
freedom of Christian progress that teaches us to seek 
our duty, and our God, in the light and before the 
altars of the living. In the Augustines the master- 
piece of Canova, the tomb of the Archduchess 
Christine, held our attention a long time; first the 
sculptor's exquisite art excited our admiration, then 
we looked for the expressions of consolations offered 
to the bereaved Empress. Seven long years Canova 
worked on that monument. A pyramid of marble 
represents the daughter's tomb. Ascending by two 
marble steps to the opening in the pyramid, a figure 
representing Virtue bears the urn containing the ashes 
of the deceased. Two infants carry torches with 
flames ascending; childlike faith is here symbolized. 
Benevolence follows, supporting a father bowed with 
grief and age ; a child walks by his side in dreamy 
wonder, innocent and sorrowful. Opposite this 
group is a mourning genius, at whose feet a lion 
crouches, its noble strength subdued with sadness. 
Over the entrance a bas-relief likeness of the Arch- 
duchess herself, held by Happiness, while an attend- 
ant genius offers her a reward of obedience. It is 
said the Empress visited this monument as religiously 
as she paid her daily visits to the coffin of her child. 
That was a reward for an artist to whom appreciation 



VIENNA. 187 

is breath itself. A still greater reward was the tribute 
paid by Art itself. At his death, a brother sculptor 
was called upon to design a monument worthy of 
Canova. He chose the master's masterpiece, and in 
Venice the tomb of Canova is a duplicate of the tomb 
of his royal mistress in Vienna. What devotee at 
the altar of fame was ever more honored ? 

In a third cathedral, the royal bowels find a rest- 
ing-place. Shade of Shelley ! 

In the Lower Belvidere, the splendid collection of 
armor from the castle of Ambras, in Tyrol, and the 
dresses and jewels brought by Captain Cook from 
the South Sea, carried us back to the Arabian Nights 
and Robinson Crusoe. At the Imperial Arsenal we 
never halted a moment in our backward flight till we 
mingled Mohammed's green standard with the 
banners of Godfrey of Bologne — Tasso's romantic 
masterpiece ; and in the presence of these ancient 
armors I had a vivid realization how 

" Fought both hosts beneath the hideous shade. 
Unyielding, firm, sharp, obstinate, and wroth ; 
Front shocking front, in horrible parade, 

Shield with shield, helm with helm, and blade loud clash'd with 
blade ! " 

But columbiads and mortars have ended all that 
romantic style of warfare. Two hundred thousand 
stand of arms suitable for modern warriors are ready 
in this extensive arsenal, with fortified barracks for 
ten thousand men. Hein ? 

The Imperial Library, with its three hundred thou- 



l88 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 



^ 



sand engravings, three hundred and fifty thousand 
volumes, sixteen thousand manuscripts, some written 
one hundred and eighty-six years before the New 
Testament, is a dehcate subject. Father Time and I 
have a sore quarrel to make up before I can allude to 
it even with becoming dignity. If ever I have 2^ fairer 
chance, the Reader will probably hear some rhapso- 
dies from Vienna direct, on this library, with its 
branch museums of Antiquities, Minerals, Zoology, 
and Botany. 

A view of the Imperial coach-house, riding-school, 
and stable proved that Napoleon I. needed to make 
all the exertion he could to give the Emperor of 
Austria even a fair impression of French Royal 
equipages and grooming. Such an array of state 
carriages and so many magnificent horses it would 
be difficult for any monarch to rival. In the dark 
stable, ninety black steeds, polished like ebony, 
neighed alternately as the master of these stables 
passed through the aisle that separated the rows of 
stalls. A white mat was laid at the entrance of each 
stall, on which the hostler was required to wipe his 
feet before stepping on the white straw that carpeted 
these dainty polished stalls. The gray stable, bay 
stable, and white, the last belonging exclusively to 
the Empress, corresponded with the black. Any 
woman might be pardoned for a faint sigh of envy in 
a palace with that library up-stairs and that stable 
below. Eugenie and Queen Victoria's luxuries faded 
to insignificance in comparison. The Imperial Jewel 



VIENNA. 189 

office, where we saw Charles the Bold's one hundred 
and thirty-three carat diamond ( ?), the — table-cloth 
— used at the — Last Supper — a tooth of John the 
Baptist — a piece of the — true cross — the arm-bone 

of St. Anne. 

There is a government nursery that causes much 
discussion among visitors to Vienna. I refer of 
course to the Lying-in Hospital. Its object is to 
prevent infanticide. Twenty thousand children usu- 
ally receive humane treatment in this institution, 
remaining for education by the government, to be 
engaged in government manufactories or the army if 
boys ; or the mother can take them away by simply 
presenting the certificate given her when she herself 
leaves the institution. She takes with her also the 
sealed envelope containing her name, which no one 
knows, as she entered masked. No parent, friend, or 
officer of justice dared approach her while she re- 
mained, and in case of her death, the law would have 
prevented proof of her presence in the hospital even 
in courts of justice. If she had money, she paid her 
board ; if she had none, her treatment was the same 
as if she had. Thirty thousand per year enter the 
hospital. Is crime encouraged or prevented? Let 
New York answer, It is prevented! Let all the earth 
say, Amen! 



CHAPTER XIX. 

IMPERIAL ENTERTAINMENTS. 

PEDRO entertained us grandly in the evenings. 
At the Royal Opera-House we heard Trovatore, 
and saw seven tiers of boxes crowded with the 
wealthiest nobility in the world. The five royal boxes 
were filled, and Maria Theresa and Joseph 11. 's physi- 
ognomies were multiplied like prismatic reflections in 
those groups of gray-haired Archdukes and pale-faced 
Archduchesses. It seemed rather hard that the de- 
posed cousin of the Emperor and the aged uncles were 
all required to rise to their feet when the Emperor's 
gentleman-in-waiting clicked the latch of the box-door, 
and even the Archduchess, his aunt, remained on her 
feet till this boy-Emperor was seated ! Their rising 
was the signal for the whole house to rise ; and during 
the performance the Emperor's applause alone could 
command an encore, though the house stormed with 
bravos and clapping of hands. As usual, we hap- 
pened in Vienna at a most favorable season — the 
Christmas festivities were continued an entire month. 
All Vienna was raving about Fraulein Filippine v. 
Edelsberg, from the King's Opera-House at Berlin. 

The excitement one experiences at such an enter- 

190 



IMPERIAL ENTERTAINMENTS. I9I 

tainment, where every note is a study, the performers, 
scenery, appointments, orchestra, the opera itself, the 
audience, all in perfect harmony, is too intense to 
describe. Fraulein Filippine had been trained in a 
severe school. When the house was one hurricane 
of excitement, after breathlessly listening for her 
voice to die away on notes scarce human, with the 
same ease and undisturbed possession of her voice 
she repeated the strains, stirring her audience into a 
new frenzy, while the Emperor and his royal brothers 
and uncles called the triumphant cantatrice again 
and again to receive the plaudits so spontaneously 
offered. 

At the 'same opera-house we witnessed, with the 
same audience, on another evening. Flick and Flock, 
and Taglioni's interpretation of the poetry of motion 
was a revelation not to be forgotten. 

The grand allegory of the Bosphorus, the Thames, 
the Seine, the Nile, and the Danube, was truly splen- 
did. From each river as it was presented in the 
scenery in the background, rose its corresponding 
city ; then troops of dancers entered, in the national 
costume of either city, and performed the national 
dances. A premier, representing each of the seven 
nations, performed a pas-seul. The opposition in the 
audience of the partisans of the seven favorites ex- 
ceeded everything I ever witnessed. Finally, the star 
of stars appeared, and handkerchiefs waved till the 
very air vibrated. The Bosphorus was presented. 
Languid hauris reclined on crimson couches in an 



192 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

Open portico. The Sultan's favorite, gracefully draped, 
knelt among the cushions. Low notes of music half 
roused her from her idle revery. Presently her eyes 
brightened with pleasurable emotion ; then her scarf 
was thrown half off, she gradually rose, trembling as 
the strains grew stronger, till every nerve of her ex- 
cited frame throbbed, and the palpitation of her breast 
beat in harmony with the exquisite measure of the 
music. A wild thrill of ecstatic music now burst 
through the tuneful air, and the form of the houri 
seemed floating, springing, bending, swaying before 
some sprite unseen by the audience, but fascinating 
her with its gleeful dance. The sprite receded, the 
houris' outstretched hands and longing eyes followed ; 
it floated backwards over her head, she looked back- 
wards after it, till her head had almost reached the 
cushions, while she was yet on her feet ; then gradu- 
ally recovering her position, she tried to hold the 
memory of the sprite's motions ; and as one by one 
they were relinquished, she grew sad, weary, and sunk 
with one palpitation of shivering despair on her couch 
of cushions ! When the last quiver of the graceful limbs 
was stilled, I put my hands involuntarily to my ears. 

The cries of that frantic audience I will never 
forget. The Emperor sprung to his feet, the audience 
rose, and five times the dancer responded to calls that 
threatened never to cease. 

An Austrian lady informed me, this dance had 
been performed the first time before the Sultan, on his 
visit to Vienna, and he called the premier to his box 



IMPERIAL ENTERTAINMENTS. I93 

during this same tempest of applause,»and presented 
her with a diamond armlet, valued at eleven thousand 
dollars, telling her she would put the principal of 
his favorite dancers to the blush ! The same dancer 
appeared in a snow-flake dance, where I began to be- 
lieve she was really only a snow-flake, floating about 
the scene independent of feet ; their motion was so 
swift, they actually skimmed over the boards rather 
than stepped. 

This dance, so spiritual in motion, was the opposite 
of the first in effect ; but the audience were as de- 
monstrative at its conclusion, showing their fine 
appreciation of the girl's versatile power of action. 

A whole nursery of ballet children gathered up her 
floral trophies, that literally covered the stage ; and 
we left the theatre with a conclusion that Viennese 
dancers deserve their world-wide fame. 

At the Theatre an der Wien we saw the Grande 
Duchesse, in German, and Fraulein Geistinger, who 
assumed the title-role, besides being noted for having 
the prettiest mouth of any woman in the world, was 
a contrast to Schneider in delicacy of physique, man- 
ner, voice, and taste. The opera was delightfully 
comic in Vienna, and splendidly performed. In Paris 
it was odious. 

Now I must relate an absurdity in my experiences. 
Pedro had hardly shut the carfiage-door on us after 
this last night's dissipation at the Vienna theatres, 
when Monsieur le Plus said, " I move we start for 
Venice to-morrow ! " 



194 A WOMAN S EXPERIENCES IN EUROPE. 

*'0h, my amber! my crystals! my leather-work! 
my opera-glasses ! " exclaimed a chorus of female 
voices. 

I had my opera-glass and mask purchased that 
very day, so I was not so distressed, but I exclaimed 
for all that, "What of the manufactories, masked- 
balls — oh, dear me, so many things not yet seen!" 

Monsieur was inexorable to all our remonstrances, 
and home we went, to pass nearly the rest of the 
night packing. Pedro bundled us all into the very 
first train that rolled out of Vienna the next morning. 

How fortunate it was we had visited the Schon- 
brunn palace before our captain's fit of prudence 
checked our extravagant career around the stores of 
Vienna. Maria Theresa was visible in the arrange- 
ment of that palace. The stern Empress, the iritel- 
lectual woman, the doting mother, and the exemplary 
ruler of a bigoted people. The little room where 
Maria Theresa sat with her daughters while engaged 
in needle-work, interested me much. Tapestry work 
and painting, specimens of each one's skill, are in- 
serted in the walls, and protected with glass cover- 
ings. Maximilian's rooms in this palace, frescoed 
in Mexican designs, we silently traversed. The bed 
in which the young king of Rome died, and his father 
Napoleon I. slept, were of course pointed out; but our 
chief interest there was in the associations that are 
so familiar to every reader of Austrian history, in the 
days of a great woman, whose character still in- 
fluences the destiny of her kingdom. 



CHAPTER XX. 

STYRIAN ALPS. 

F the strength of government policy, especially 
its military system, is exhibited in its post-roads 
and railways, Austria has good reason to feel strong 
in the importance of her magnificent thoroughfares. 
Our first day's journey was on the Styrian route, 
from Vienna to Gratz, the capital of Styria, one of the 
most important highways of commerce on the Con- 
tinent. The distance was one hundred and forty 
miles. We were twenty-eight hours making it. But 
listen. It was mid-winter, and we ascended the 
Soemmering, on the Styrian Alps, two thousand seven 
hundred and ninety feet above the level of Glocknitz, 
the commencement of the ascent. On this gigantic 
railway, whose bridges, cuttings, and tunnels are un- 
surpassed as a grand work of engineering, we passed 
through fifteen tunnels, the main or Soemmering tunnel 
being four thousand five hundred feet long, the Wolfs- 
berg and Weber Kegel, fourteen and thirteen hundred 
feet. Besides the tunnels, eleven vaulted cuttings, 
and fifteen viaducts or stone bridges, the arches being 
masterpieces of masonry, are added to the enormous 
work. The speed of our train across the level 

195 



196 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

country, from Vienna to Schottwein, was greater than 
anything I ever experienced. There are but three 
of these express trains per week, and the engines 
seem, on setting out, to anticipate the strain of their 
toilsome ascent of the mountain, rushing Hke young 
colts to annihilate space, and make a furious attack 
on the difficulty they must conquer. At Schottwein, 
on the boundary line of Styria, we began to realize 
our Alpine undertaking. Rugged mountains towered 
above us, and chains of snow-covered hills stretched 
away in dreamy distances. Whirling around a 
sombre mass of rock, its sides bristling with pine- and 
fir-trees dismantled of their foliage, the train would 
shoot into a green level spot, where the mountaineers 
were securing their huts against the avalanches pend- 
ing in the cloudy heights above them; and for a 
moment we fancied our winter experiences must be 
at an end. But another whirl would reveal a wilder- 
ness of snow-peaks multiplying as we advanced, and 
rising higher and higher, till the whole universe 
seemed but an undulating carpet of snow, and a 
canopy of clouds. Now the sun bursts through a 
cloud rolling past our train, we seize the moment, and 
through this golden opening a break in the mountain 
chain reveals a little green valley far below us, nes- 
tling under the ledge of the very mountain we are 
ascending. A mass of snow is sliding nearer and nearer 
the fatal edge. We tremble for the poor peasants 
who may be buried under this stealthy, threatening, 
pall-like mass, when, hark ! Have the skies fallen on 



STYRIAN ALPS. I97 

US ? The noise of a thousand cataracts appalled our 
ears with the fall of a great avalanche directly before 
our train, and it seemed but the signal for peak after 
peak above us, responding to the reverberation of 
this avalanche, to fall, whirl, roar, and pile up moun- 
tain-high a barrier against our trespassing approach 
to the heart of the Alps. 

What are we to do ? We have so much to admire 
that we have no time to think of our position yet. 
The air powdered with the light particles of snow, 
flying like summer dust through the sunbeams that 
burst in on this snow-revel, scintillates with blue, 
green, orange, purple, and crimson specks, that dis- 
solve into gauzy drapery, curling, rolling, floating, 
skimming away over the mountain-peaks, till they 
are at last suspended in richest canopies over the 
cliffs, concealing from the affrighted people in the 
valley their mischievous work on the mountain, till a 
new freak starts the whole mass into a gleeful leap 
on the huts of the unwary peasants. 

Another darting sunbeam pierces a cloud near us 
that I had mistaken for snow, when, lo ! another oasis 
in this ghastly desert cheers our sight, — and look ! 
it is reflected in clouds above us ! High over our 
heads a lovely valley is suspended, like an emerald 
in the fleecy folds of white cloud. Beneath us, 
miles below, its reflection — so it seems to us — 
gleams on the shroud that lies cold over the earth. 
That is unreal to us, while the reflection above invites 
us to come to its sunny warmth ! 



198 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

" Oh, what a glorious illusion ! Is earth after all 
our heaven, and the paradise we long for but a reflec- 
tion of the germs of bliss within us ! " This is my 
first thought ; then with reason comes the reaction 
of all such ecstasies, and to conquer my emotion I 
offer a lighter fancy. 

" This is the Cloud-King's palace, and when these 
gauzy brilliant folds are all removed, what do you 
suppose we shall see ? " . 

" I suppose it will take an army of peasants to dig 
us out of this avalanche ; and Petite, if they behave 
this way much longer, they will tip us over one of 
these romantic precipices ! " 

Of course, that was Monsieur le Plus, and Madame 
le Plus resented his hard-hearted attempt to alarm us, 
and Mrs. A. and I added our remonstrances. But 
the sound of shovels soon followed, and never will I 
forget my amazement, when about a mile of men, 
women, and children appeared, shovel in hand, with 
which they had actually dug their way through the 
fallen mass of snow to our train ! 

In a moment the children swarmed around us with 
the Alpine daisies — in their little winter dresses of 
white velvet, with orange-tipped stamens, — a touch- 
ing instance of God's care for the least of his crea- 
tions, and His peculiar love for the solitary in nature. 
These rare blossoms are guarded by the peasants 
with jealous care ; while in the valleys millions of 
violets are crushed by passing feet. We took all the 
flowers they brought us, and our small coins were 



STYRIAN ALPS. I99 

received by the peasants as showers of gold would 
be by American children at Christmas-time. 

We were not permitted to stop longer than could 
be helped, even at the summit of the Alps, for every 
hour delayed was a risk of fresh avalanches ; and on 
we steamed, flying, it seemed, on the downward 
grades, through tunnels, where the mountain streams 
rushing down the conductors cut in the rocks made 
the intense darkness more hideous still with their 
wild roar. 

The cold grew very severe as night closed around 
us in these bleak mountains, with only the pale moon- 
light to steal in through chance ravines and make the 
chaos of snow and cloud appear more dreary and 
hopelessly extended. 

Many a dream of home and cheery firesides was 
suddenly dispelled by the rattling peal of distant ava- 
lanches. And there, with my companions settling 
again to sleep, night and these mountain sentinels 
enveloping my senses, I have realized — not man's 
insignificance, but the majesty of might that prevails 
over every obstacle to man's progress. 

Mountains and seas are his favorite problems. 
Give him his hour, and he will plough the sea with 
an unerring furrow, scale and compass the mountain 
with undeviating precision; and when he has ex- 
ceeded the flight of the bird, the strength of the levi- 
athan, the cunning and wisdom of the serpent, he 
can, with immortal vision, look up to Thrones and 
Principalities, the soul's inheritance, beyond even 



2O0 A V/OMAN's experiences in EUROPE. 

these glorious heights, to which human ambition has 
nobly and successfully aspired In such moments, 
one can comprehend the significant simplicity of the 
lines — " and Jesus went apart, into a high mountain, 
to pray ; And it was evening y 

We welcomed the morning that brought with the 
light one of the grandest scenes my eyes ever beheld. 
The Styrian valleys, traversed by silvery streams, and f 
cheerful with their numerous population of peasantry, 
and grazing herds of cattle half-human in their social j 
ways of gathering about the herdsmen, and lowing 
in response to their calls; the Mur River dancing 
along its bed with a merry sparkling recognition of 
the genial spring warmth of the sunshine; and finally \ 
we ran out from the foot of the whole mountain- 
chain, crossed a stupendous bridge over the Mur, and 
we were at Gratz. 

Monsieur le Plus and the conductor of the hotel 
carriage talked about the wonders of the Soemmer- 
ing Pass, and the fabulous cost of the railroad — 
seven millions of gold dollars, and the laborious work 
of thirty years to accomplish it. But I was hungry, 
and sleepy, and tired; and after sleepily eating a good 
share of a delicious capon, I fell into a Dutch bed 
with thanksgiving, and ignored the tobacco-smoke 
and beer-songs that were wafted with equal persever- 
ance towards my open windows by those indefatigable 
University students all night long. 



CHAPTER XXI. 

VENICE. 

WE passed only two days at Gratz, leaving by 
the next through-express train from Vienna 
to Venice. In that time we saw the points of interest 
that are described by all travellers, — the University, 
churches, and beautiful women. The situation of the 
city is so attractive that I w^onder not more travellers 
resort there for the summer seasons. The markets 
can be recommended for cheapness and fine quality. 

From Gratz to Venice is a road of varying moun- 
tain scenery and a series of ascents, windings, and 
descents through passes in the Julian chain of the 
Alps, on the borders, and the Carnic Alps in the cen- 
tre of the lUyrian province. As we approached 
nearer the southern divisions of the Empire, castles 
and villas grew more numerous, and we were very 
busy hunting out the wonders of historical and guide- 
book renown, not omitting Richard Third's castle, 
that might have been mistaken for Macbeth's, so wild 
its situation and so antique the style of its archi- 
tecture. 

At last, after forty hours of Alpine experiences 
from Gratz to Lombardo-Venetia, we are submerged 

201 



202 A woman's experiences IN EUROPE. 

into a balmy spring warmth that nearly prostrates our 
strength — so many days braced to the utmost tension 
against the frosty attacks of mountain hurricanes. 
Our wrappings are thrown off; we languidly return 
the half curious gaze of herdsmen and women, who 
saunter after the grazing flocks; we see purple' clus- 
ters of grapes, and golden oranges hang over the 
walls as we pass along; but it is not real — it is only 
one of those tantalizing dreams that will end in snow. 
What is that so reviving in the breeze that swept 
through the car-windows ? Salt air! A long, long 
breath ; we rush to the window, the train is winding 
like a flying serpent over the lagoons ! The sun has 
set, the world is bounded on one side by walls of 
jasper, on the other by a sea of pure gold, like unto 
clear glass. Presently we are invited to leave our 
gloomy railway carriage. Passing through a large, 
white marble portico, we walk on through our old 
familiar dream, without the disturbing fear that we 
will awake before the dream is ended. At the foot 
of a broad flight of granite steps a gondola is waiting 
for us. It has been waiting, a weird-looking guide 
tells us — who prompts the dream— ever since we 
formed the wish to come to Venice; and if only we 
had come a little sooner, Childe Harold, Shelley, Pe- 
trarch, and Portia, and — oh, such crowds of 'em- 
bodied Fancies and Passions would all have been 
found here; but, he whispered, the moon is coming 
up fast, and if you are so inclined, you can see them 
all, by simply pleasing the pale goddess with an earnest 
mvocation. What a suggestion ! 



VENICE. 203 

The whisperer was in his dotage, certainly, to talk 
of anything so commonplace as an invocation, in that 
flood of moonlight through which we glided past 
monuments, palaces, and poets' shrines, deep perpen- 
dicular shadows like those that measured the fathom- 
less depths of Shelley's watery grave ; old sea-weed, 
tossed by the tide against the barred entrance to 
Othello's halls, as the limp corpse of the poet was 
thrown by heedless waters on the sands of an unpity- 
ing world ; spires and domes towering in the hea- 
venly light that regilds with equal pride the faded 
glory of crumbling palaces and the renewed adorn- 
ments of noble monuments. Time and decay are 
hidden in the mellowed light of a moon that shines 
only on Venice, obliterating all her scars, filling rude 
seams with soft shadows, and restoring to the City of 
the Sea all her first pride, loveliness, and majestic 
beauty ! No need to follow the dream to the end. 
The Bridge of Sighs, the Rialto, the Piazza San Marco, 
the Doge's Palace, Santa Sophia, all pass through our 
vision ; we see the streets thronged with people, yet 
hear no footfalls ; all were gliding on as we are, pro- 
pelled by noiseless oars, and wrapt in the spell of 
that melancholy, fitful light that now sheds on the 
world a flood of golden glory quickly changed as her 
smiles, to a silvery mist of tears. 

It has been said, " the mountains are a feeling." So 
was Venice to me. I could no more describe it in 
detail than I could account for the ecstasy of sad- 
ness that took possession of my soul the moment I 
recognized Venice. 



204 -A. WOMAN S EXPERIENCES IN EUROPE. 

If Spirits know regret, it must be here that they 
meet the brooding shadow and offer their undefined 
sympathy for her grief at the world's wrong. It was 
in sheer desperation to escape such oppressive fancies 
that I resolved, one evening, when the rest of the 
party were too exhausted to accompany me, to go 
with a valet and two gondoliers to Fort San Andrea, 
and have my first glimpse of the Mediterranean by 
moonlight! We had just come in from the Piazza, 
where the carnival had already begun, and the colon- 
nades brilliantly lighted were thronged with maskers. 
One seized me as we passed along, and filled my 
hands with confectionery, that I would not have 
dared to eat, had not Antonio whispered, " Ladies, do 
not throw it away ; no danger ; strarigers are always 
safe in receiving compliments in Venice." Our hotel 
was the Royal Daneli, one of the oldest and finest 
palaces on the Grand Canal. My room was lined 
with dark portraits, no one knows of whom or by 
whom, and with heavy Venetian mirrors, the art of 
making which has been long lost. Under my windows 
the gondoliers made their unearthly cries to signal 
chance passengers on the cross streets, and avoid 
collisions at the corners, so that I was constantly 
supplied with food for my notion that I was living 
the past fanciful existence that comes to every child 
with the first revelations of romance. 

At the entrance of the palace a gondola waited 
with two oarsmen and Antonio, our guide. Of 
course my friends remonstrated. I took my place 



VENICE. 205 

after having the awning removed, and gHded on 
through the rest of my dream. The city, with its 
myriad hghts, seemed sinking in the sea, throwing 
out on the Adriatic starry circlets and coronals that 
gleamed in the rippling waters like the hundred 
marriage - rings thrown by the Doges to their one 
fickle bride. I turned away from the everlasting 
succession of illusions that tantalized my sight when 
I looked toward Venice, and listened to the dip of 
the oars and the chant of the gondoliers, and 
watched the graceful motions of the boatmen who 
seemed utterly unconscious of any one's existence 
but their own, till I shivered once in the gloom of the 
walls that Byron made audible to the whole earth 
with the echoes of madmen's cries for release. Then 
one of the gondoliers dropped his oar and laid his 
shaggy mantle across my feet. No use to say I was 
not cold; the boatman was an insensible statue 
again, and his chant was only Memnon-music, that 
would die away with the fading moon. 

Arrived at the island on which the fortress is built, 
we went to the outer gate and asked permission to 
ascend an eminence from which the long blue out- 
line of the Mediterranean could be distinctly traced. 
The Commandant happened to be passing thVough 
the gate, and suddenly turning toward me, asked a 
dozen questions about America, and offered his per- 
sonal attendance to the brow of the hill. I accepted 
his escort gratefully, and the walk that threatened to 
be rather disagreeable with Antonio's broken English 



206 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

to jar on the harmony of the scene, time, and rip- 
pHng of the waves on the sands, proved after all a 
delightful episode in my experiences. The dignity, 
gentlemanly intelligence, and the easy accent of his 
French tongue, as native to him as the Venetian, 
calling forth my hearty thanks when my purpose 
was accomplished, and I parted with the obliging 
Commandant at the fortress, wiser for his attention, 
and proud of his praises of the Americans, who he 
declared were the only travellers, except the Ger- 
mans, who seemed to appreciate what was really 
worth a traveller's pains to see, and determined 
enough to bend circumstances to their will. The 
Commandant mentioned several American names 
with which I was familiar, and seemed to cherish the 
recollection of their visits to San Andrea, at the same 
hour I had chosen, with peculiar pleasure. Soldiers 
are but men. They like to be trusted by unsuspi- 
cious women. In none of my similar experiences in 
Europe did I ever have occasion to repent such trust. 
Insults rarely happen where they are not invited. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

VENICE. 

THE richness of marbles and precious stones in 
the adornments of the churches and palaces of 
Venice exceeds one's greatest expectations, and one 
is scarcely surprised by any of the grandeur or beauty 
that art and architecture present in the Italian cities 
that succeed Venice in the tour of Italy. " What do 
you think of the style of architecture ? " says a con- 
noisseur. Permit me to disavow all pretensions of 
critical judgment on that question, but my impres- 
sions were very favorable. What the connoisseur 
calls *'a humble-jumble of the Greek, Gothic, and 
Roman," I call a picturesque combination of styles 
adapted to the peculiar situation of the several cathe- 
drals, palaces, and public buildings, always viewed 
from the designer's standpoint ; — one time far out on 
the Adriatic, where the Greek imagery of Santa 
Maria sprung into his imagination. Nearer, the 
square of St. Mark's combines in the only foot-space 
of Venice all the columnar and Gothic decorations 
imaginable. The Ducal palace stretches gaily along 
the Grand Canal, satisfying the eye with its multiplic- 
ity of gilded and sculptured points, that might other- 

207 



208 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

wise complain of an abrupt tower-like castle, making 
the square of St. Mark's and the interminable water- 
line of the Grand Canal too wearisome in its monot- 
ony to the beholder. 

The tombs of Titian and Canova, the paintings of 
the former and sculpture of the latter, Tintoretta's 
pictures, and the whole collection of works that pre- 
serve the fable of wealth — that Venice repeats in all 
its enchantment and freshness — we saw. A Jew, 
with a fish under his arm, paused when we looked 
for the piece of red-cloth on his hat, and glanced 
malignantly at our impertinent curiosity as we peered 
into Shylock's office on the Rialto. The glass-bead 
painter would not throw light on any of our con- 
jectures as to his mysterious art of painting with 
glass pencils dipped in fire, better than we could 
color with water-mixtures. A supercilious old man 
who had miles of gold-chains, from the fine thread 
for a safety-pin to a cable watch-guard, actually tan- 
talized us with a yard-stick, asking " how many yards 
we wished," when a few inches required more of our 
gazzettas than we cared to afford. And these little 
coins took us back to the A B C of journalism, 
a Venetian gazzetta being the price of those single 
sheets which were printed with the daily news of 
ages ago, and circulated as liberally through the sixty 
isles as New York city can boast now. 

And that was the origin of our Gazettes, The 
convent of San Lazare, with its wonderful printing 
establishment and photographic apparatus, interested 



VENICE. 209 

US greatly. The same Greek boys who accompanied 
Byron's Venetian musings — that grew into paeans 
with their swelHng choruses — passed us in the richly 
embroidered satin robes worn at all the services. 

Through the cloisters, a procession of Armenian 
brothers, obligingly filled up the picture we re- 
membered so well. And in the library, Byron's por- 
trait looked so calmly at us, and seemed to think our 
presence at the Greek convent so very natural, that 
we had a mind to take a seat and wait till he was 
ready to explain the extraordinary annihilation of 
time and space, of which our clairvoyant imagina- 
tions had been guilty. Ah ! dear Reader, this spell, 
like all other earthly happiness, must end only too 
soon. I could dwell forever on the delights of 
Venice. But you might tire of my fantastic recol- 
lections. Let us join a procession of illuminated 
gondolas, and soon we are at the portico of a white 
marble building, flooded with light from thousands 
of chandeliers. We step out on the bright carpet 
laid over the steps, its fringes floating in the water, 
and enter with a group of Venetian ladies,- whom we 
recognize, in their black-lace head-dresses and pearl 
ornaments, as the Jessicas and Portias of all our re- 
membered fictions. The opera-house is very grand, 
Prince Amadeu's among the royal guests; but the 
little Caprai clatters more musically with his hoofs on 
the boards of the stage than the prima- donna's at- 
tempts to interpret Dinorah ; and to Meyerbeer's grati- 
fication, if his spirit can tolerate such a performance 



210 A WOMAN S EXPERIENCES IN EUROPE. 

of his opera enough to witness it even, I fall asleep. 
I am wakened to behold crowds and clusters of 
limbs, twisting and shooting like the rays of Chinese 
fire-wheels in a maze called a dance, but I fail to see 
anything like poetry of motion there, and content 
myself with a wide-awake stare at some really splendid 
scenery, where cascades and waterfalls tumble over 
illuminated grottos, till finally the management, out 
of sheer compassion for our weariness, drops the 
curtain, somewhere about four o'clock in the morn- 
ing, and I disgust Antonio all the way home with re- 
peated avowals that Venice will never catch me in a 
box where I must hear a four-act opera and witness 
a five-act ballet in one night. 

Let us fly from Venice in this mood, and ignoring 
my visit to Bologna in bad health and worse spirits, 
enter one bright morning the gem of cities, Florence ! 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

JOURNEY TO ROME. 

THERE is one shrine in Florence that the Brown- 
ings could not rob from my special experiences. 
That is the tomb of Mrs. Browning. I claim from her 
manes some encouraging word to lighten my literary 
pack, after the pains I endured to gain admittance 
to the Protestant burial-ground in the environs of 
Florence. 

Two hours' hard work, scolding, quarrelling, 
bribing, and beseeching the gate-keeper and the 
custodian, who lives a mile from the gate. We drove 
back and forth between these two imbeciles, till my 
friends lost all patience ; and finally, the gate opened 
— as hearts do sometimes — suddenly, but no one 
knows how. What can I say of Santa Croce, the 
Pitti Palace, the Cacine, the Cenci Chapel, the Duomo, 
the Arno, streets of Florence, mosaic fabriques, 
Michael Angelo's unfinished sculpture, his dwelling- 
house, with its cabinet of art gems, and a long list 
of shrines, including the tomb of Columbus, that my 
head aches in recalling ? They may be already asso- 
ciated in the mind of the reader with chapters and 
chapters of delightful authors, whose prerogative it 

211 



212 A woman's experiences IN EUROPE. 

was to paint those pictures with colors before which 
mine would pale. 

We had determined to stay ten days in Florence, 
but after five days Mrs. B. and myself concluded that 
we would sacrifice three days of Florence for a visit 
to Pisa. We knew Mr. B. and Mrs. A. were bent on 
a straight course to Rome; so a conspiracy was 
agreed upon, and succeeded so admirably, that I 
laugh while I record it with extreme satisfaction. 

At dinner, Mrs. B. innocently murmured, " I am so 
sorry we can't go to Pisa!" 

Monsieur cast a furtive glance at me, and seeing 
my deafness to the complaint, whispered a remon- 
strance and caution to Mrs. B. I did not dare to look 
at her, but drained a goblet of water, and abruptly 
said, "Two weeks in Florence will not be a day 
too long!" 

" No," said Mrs. B., " there is so much to go over 
again that we have seen, and we have promised Mr. 
Powers, Mr. Hart, Mr. Meade — " How many more 
sculptors would have been arrayed against our two 
dismayed listeners I do not know, but the reader 
would have been edified by their statuesque counte- 
nances. Blank amazement ! 

" Why, my dear, we start forRome in a few days — " 

"A few days!'' I exclaimed, and Mrs. A. burst into 
a laugh at Mr. B.'s perplexed pause as he looked in 
despair from Mrs. B.'s face to mine. I seized that 
moment of confusion and said, "I propose a com- 
promise ; " and forthwith laid down the agreement 



JOURNEY TO ROME. 2I3 

to leave Florence at the expiration of the ten days, 
instead of two weeks, if Mr. B. would take Mrs. B. 
and myself to Pisa ! 

We went to Pisa ; we went in a terrific rain-storm ; 
we brought away three leaning towers, and Mr. B. 
ordered some lovely statuary. And never, till we all 
met somewhere near the Catskill on the Hudson, 
months afterward, did Mr. B. and Mrs. A. discover 
how Mrs. B. and I managed to get to Pisa. 

Rome was Rome to me, from the first glimpse 
through a rain-shower, to the last look through some 
rain-drops on my eyelashes. It was no one's city 
more than mine. It belonged to the past, and I had 
an equal inheritance of ancient ground, where any 
one of the present century dare call himself at home. 
When the Pope passed along the streets with pom- 
pous parade, it only filled out my picture of modern 
Rome. My orders and a small fee would remove the 
green curtain from any one of the masters' paintings 
that I chose to examine. No one had a right to ex- 
clude me from the three hundred and sixty churches, 
where art has thrown her choicest gifts before the 
Christian altars. In the immensity of St. Peter's, I 
roamed, and pondered, and questioned, if God was 
honored in the work that deprived the poor of their 
hard-earned means, and puffed up the rich with easily 
gotten gains. To decide my question, it seemed, at 
my side crawled a filthy, ragged wretch, who kissed 
the toe of Jupiter, wiped it with his greasy hat, and 
as he knelt before an altar blazing with a hundred 



214 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

lights, his purple lips moved in a petition to myself 
for a mezzo baiocco ! And I saw then the protection 
his liberal mother church had afforded him. A brass 
breast-plate, on which was stamped the condemnation 
of Papacy ! Licensed to beg ! When the president 
of the Propaganda informed me my name was on the 
list for the next presentation to his Holiness, I de- 
clined the honor on general principles. There are 
holy men in Rome, some holy Roman Catholics, 
who know nothing of religion but that which the 
light of St. Peter's has shed on them, and I no more 
hold them responsible for the corruptions of the 
Papacy, than I hold the benighted Greenlanders ac- 
countable for the three months' darkness that en- 
velops their land. Hasten the day when Jesus of 
Nazareth shall reign over these magnificent altars, 
that time will touch gently, that they may remain to 
teach the world how the most cunning devices of 
man fail to overturn God's high purposes ; and what 
man has reared to awe the weak to submission. He 
will retain as monuments of His \ia\y patience with 
man. The Pope's choir, and the ornamental statuaiy 
in the Chapel of St. Gregory, can be viewed in two 
ways. Neither is elevating. One is abominable. 
The last was suggested to me by a whisperer; and 
that whisper can be traced through the crowds of 
gazers who stand daily in the chapel, by the stealthy 
blush and averted look. 

Friar Tuck is no fiction. I saw his counterpart a 
hundred times repeated in Rome. In the wilderness 



JOURNEY TO ROME. 215 

of antique treasures that crowd the museum of the 
Vatican, the halls of the Capitol, and gallery after 
gallery of noblemen who inherit the right to call the 
works theirs, but dare not remove them from Rome, 
I was not troubled with such uncomfortable reflec- 
tions or reminders of the natural according to Dar- 
win, but naked truth, white and ghastly in its un- 
veiled plainness, brought before me heathen concep- 
tions of virtue and vice, heroism and romance, and 
Pagan superstition in its sincere simplicity. Could I 
have chosen in Rome between the Papist or the 
Pagan, I would have preferred the latter. Dr. DoUin- 
ger and Pere Hyacinthe have laid the foundations for 
an immense work. Victor Emmanuel, in the light of 
the twentieth century, will be called a brave king to 
have ventured in the midst of an army of priests who 
have been so deprived of many a benefice that the 
State dared not withhold from the Church when the 
Church was Rome. What I have already described 
in my romance of Italy, of St. Angelo, visitors rarely 
see. Going without gentlemen, Mrs. A. and myself 
were admitted by a polite French officer. I doubt if 
I will ever enjoy another visit inside the fortress, 
while Pius Ninth occupies Rome. 

I was not only watched in the streets from the time 
I excused myself from attending the Pope's recep- 
tion, but a clever Jesuit woman followed my move- 
ments and attempted some ridiculous impositions on 
my credulity and assumed ignorance, that any child 
might have interpreted. 



2l6 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

One day I was waiting at the entrance of the Ba- 
buino while Mrs. A. went into a store on the Piazza 
di Spagna, near the Propaganda or Jesuit College. 
My attention was attracted to a frisky little donkey 
that rushed across the Piazza trying to break loose 
from the miniature dray to which he was harnessed. 
Two boys were trying to balance themselves on the 
dray. They laughed so heartily, and the donkey 
brayed so energetically in remonstrance, that I could 
not refrain from joining the chorus, when, to my 
astonishment, a voice, profundo basso, echoed my 
laugh ! 

It was a fat red-faced monk, and evidently with no 
engagement to urge his steps. He addressed me in 
Italian. I replied in English. We compromised 
with French, and here is the transcript of that spe- 
cimen of priestly catechism. 

" Donkeys are funny animals ? " ^J 

" Yes, Monsieur." ™ 

" You are English ? " 

" American, Monsieur." 

" Mademoiselle has dark eyes, she is Southern?" 

" Madame, Monsieur, and I belong to the North." 

" Is it possible, a madame so young?" 

"Truly, Monsieur." 

"Any children?" 

" None, Monsieur." 

"Ah, (with a sigh,) too youngs but the Lord ivill send 
them/" I 

Providence sent Mrs. A. at that critical juncture, 



JOURNEY TO ROME. 21/ 

and before we could get rid of the monk, he invited 
himself to dine with us, and engaged Mrs. A. to carry 
a bone to a brother-priest in -America, a precious 
relic. Four dinner-times he called at our hotel, and 
the servants dared not refuse him ; but we did, and 
the last attempt to see us when he left the bone was 
desperate. He talked an hour to our messenger. I 
was leaning over the stairway listening, and the 
monk's nonsense would have disgraced a lackey. I 
could hardly believe it possible he was entitled to his 
gown and cap. 

I inquired mentally of a patron saint likely to give 
correct sounding of that soul's depth. 

"Father Coleridge," I asked, "while this man 
wastes his time babbling, how many neglected truths 
lie bedridden in the dormitory of his soul ? " 

" Daughter," was the reply, " despise not thou the 
dimensions of that dormitory. They are vast; but, 
alas, the couches are all unoccupied!" 



10 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

ROME FROM THE PINCIO. 

LET me oppose my rainy-day picture of Rome 
with one that I love to dwell on — Sunday after- 
noon on the Pincio. We were waiting the opening 
of the service at La Trinita di' Monti, but the mili- 
tary band was discoursing music that we had no 
power to resist, and we rested under the oaks of the 
Druid Grove that crowns the Pincio, and overlookSj 
as Mizpah overlooked the dead of her past, the ruins 
of old Rome. With the music mingled sounds of 
laughter from the gardens of the Pincio, silvery notes 
from cascades falling through artificial grottos, and 
murmurs of the breeze that gently stirred the leaves 
of the grave old oaks. People from every known 
clime, dressed in endless variety of costume, stood in 
circles near the orchestral platform, or promenaded 
the flowery walks, or remained in their carriages, en- 
joying the scene as we did, without the energy to 
participate. 

We were all spellbound by the wonderful effects 
of sunset in the varying hues of sky and atmosphere 
above and around us. The sun seemed to rest on 

Monte Mario, and through the pink, blue, and golden 

218 



ROME FROM THE PINCIO. 2ig 

canopies that veiled the orb from our sight, the earth 
was illumined with a tinted atmosphere through 
which the wilderness of Rome's marble edifices, pil- 
lars, and balconies appeared beautiful as the crystal 
battlements described in Revelation. 

The influences of such a scene lift the heart to 
strains of enthusiasm too great for utterance. We 
are content to regard it with no greater power than 
that of appreciating it as a poem of Nature and Art, 

— the most sublime page in our book of life. 

The picture before us was so vast, so full of the 
history of the past, of present decay. The struggle 
of modern ambition over ancient ruin, distinguished 
by the fresh, snowy marble, and modern gilding, glis- 
tening beside the gray, crumbling temples, arches, 
towers, and monuments, whose difficult and profuse 
ornamentation revealed their Mediaeval origin. 

That scene stirred the emotions of the Nero of lit- 
erature, who could sit on the pinnacle of Fame, exult- 
ing over the flames he had fanned from the passions 
of men's hearts — to destroy their purity by a con- 
suming power — and yet, in his better moments, 
weave the noblest fancies of this Mistress of the World 

— Rome — "The Niobe of nations, childless and 
crownless in her voiceless woe." 

From the glistening Tiber, the gloomy arches of 
the Coliseum, the ruins of the Forum, and the frown- 
ing turrets of San Angelo, legions of spirits rose 
with the murky exhalations that breathe pestilence 
through the air of Rome ; and already, before their 



1 
220 A woman's experiences IN EUROPE. 

hour was come, they oppressed my soul with the long 
line of vengeance — threatening martyrs, whose dust 
buried the foundations of ancient Rome, and covered 
her fairest marbles with ineffaceable mould. I was 
glad when the vesper-bell summoned us to the con- 
vent. The service I cannot describe without repeat- 
ing a chapter in another volume, so I forbear. 

A beautiful, clear morning in Rome is something to 
be enjoyed more than one can tell, particularly if an 
excursion is to be made to any of the villas outside 
the city, where the palm-trees, waving on the Seven 
Hills, seem to beckon invitingly to the traveller. On i 
one of those mornings in February, when the air was 1 
odorous with violets and camellias of every hue, and 
the sweet lilies-of-the-valley were bending their tiny 
cups filled with sparkling dew-drops, I rose at seven 
o'clock, an hour considered barbarous in Rome, for 
none but servants either rise or breakfast before nine 
o'clock. But I had an engagement. Dressing 
hastily, and swallowing a cup of cafe-au-lait, my ears 
were immediately after charmed with the sound of 
hundreds of tiny bells ; and looking from the window, 
I saw a iiettura or barouche, with a pair of horses I 
covered with bells, feathers, gay ribbons and flowers, 
the vetturino or driver with a pointed hat and Roman 
livery. Two friends in the carriage, a pair of spirits 
who thoroughly enjoyed the novelty and charm of 
their situation, and to whose companionship I con- 
signed myself without the least dread of vexatious 
complainings or ill-temper should any unforeseen 



ROME FROM THE PINCIO. 221 

occurrence disarrange our plans for the day's excur- 
sion. We were bound for Tivoli, eighteen miles from 
Rome, across the Campagna, into the very haunts of 
brigands, against whom we refused to take warning. 
I believe ours was the only single carriage that had 
gone over the same ground for months. After listen- 
ing to frightful stories of murder, robbery, and of 
prisoners having their ears cut off and sent to their 
friends, with messages that their heads would soon 
follow if a ransom was not immediately sent them ; 
and after repeated unavailing attempts to make several 
parties, who had agreed to go together, decide upon 
a day, we determined to venture alone ; and by the 
time we set out we rather wished for an encounter 
with Fra Diavolo's grandson, if only to see if he 
really resembled Habelmann. " Murray," the inevi- 
table compagnon-de-voyageyS2cys^ "a hurried excursion 
to Tivoli will scarcely be satisfactory." Our experi- 
ence, the traveller's best guide after all, tells to the 
contrary. Those who have crossed the Campagna 
can readily recall its appearance on an early morning 
when the cypress and acacia trees are in full foliage. 
The old ruins of ancient grandeur and architectural 
perfection are covered with dark, poisonous vines, 
that bear beautiful but treacherous white blossoms ; 
the sterile wastes, where herdsmen burrow into cells 
and caves for protection from the damp, fatal airs at 
night and the glistening sun by day ; the immense 
plain of verdure over which great herds of sheep, 
goats, oxen, and black hogs roam and feed, followed 



222 A WOMAN S EXPERIENCES IN EUROPE. 

by shepherds in the veritable picturesque costumes 
our statuettes and paintings represent — pointed hat, 
graceful mantle, Roman sandals — complete, but, alas ! 
so soiled, and often ragged, that the charm is only 
half realized. Their posturings, however, are always 
the same. Whether " under a hay-stack fast asleep," 
on the brow of a hill, leaning against a rock, or lazily 
resting on the back of a donkey, a Roman shepherd 
is always a picture, his pose graceful and easy, a nat- 
ural model that no nation can mistake. The usual 
occupation of these shepherds is knitting ! With 
two and four steel needles they knit all sorts of useful 
articles for home use, almost always walking, pausing 
only to gaze at the American who dashes by, waking 
up old Rome to the fact that while she slumbers, new 
nations are rising in the West, growing daily in 
strength and confidence. As we flew along the hard 
Roman highway, the bells ringing merrily on our 
spirited horses, calling out from huts, ruins, and old, 
repaired towers, hosts of fleet-footed beggars, who 
kept pace with our carriage-wheels till our dread of 
accident to them forced us to throw the mezzo baiocco 
they would run two miles to secure ; low hills on 
either side crowned with castles and vineyards ; that 
peculiar shade of purple mist hovering around the 
distant Apennines, blending with the rosy morning 
light as the sun climbed up in the heavens ; blue, oh ! 
such blue sky over our heads ! We lay back on the 
easy, springy seats and traced in the changing area 
of heaven groupings of spirits with faces as bright 



ROME FROM THE PINCIO. 223 

and lovely as the glorious inimitable painting on the 
ceiling of the Rospigliosi Palace, Guido's "Aurora!" 
A strong smell of sulphur suddenly changed my 
visions, and reminded me more of Milton's " Paradise 
Lost," or Michael Angelo's " Last Judgment" in the 
Sistine chapel at the Vatican. We stood on a bridge 
under which ran a stream of murky, foaming water, 
nine feet wide and two miles long, the outlet of the 
lakes of La Solfatara, emptying the sulphurous waters 
into the Tiber. 

Drawing the vettura on the side of the road, we 
climbed the fences and ran over the stony ground to 
the curious lake, or lago di' Tartari, where a strange 
spectacle presented itself Every object around its 
white crusted banks was petrified ; branches of trees, 
vegetables, acorns, little baskets that children had 
deposited to have turned to stone, hoping " to call in 
a few days and get them ; " and we turned away with 
a grim recollection of Lot's wife, almost afraid to look 
back as we hurried to our carriage, lest we should 
make an addition to the interesting petrifactions for 
future travellers to regard as " rather curious ! " Re- 
membering that we had much to see, and eighteen 
miles to drive back, and that the gates of Rome 
would be closed at nine o'clock punctually, we hurried 
over the ground to the ancient Tibur, once a power- 
ful rival of Rome, where we were to see temples that 
were founded and dedicated to heathen gods before 
the Son of God came into the world to bring light 
and life — where darkness and death had reigned for 



224 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

centuries. Up the hills, through miles of continuous 
olive groves, with Albani, a town nestling in the 
Apennines on the right, the castles and villas of the 
Sabines, perched on the top of conical mountains, on 
the left, with steep sides that must have proved a 
protection in themselves from the attacks of neigh- 
boring barbarous tribes ; past the villa Hadriana, , 
which we visited afterwards ; on to the villa d'Este, 
built in 1549, for the son of the Duke of Ferrara. It 
belongs to the present Duke of Modena, successor 
of that family. Entering by the gate that leads to 
the Cardinal's residence, we had our usual good-for- 
tune of seeing him leave the Jesuit College, and re- 
ceive several messengers, who delivered their commu- 
nications on bended knees, after reverently kissing his 
hand. He received our foreign Protestant inclination of 
the head with a gracious acknowledgment, raising his 
cap from his head after our own fashion. Descending 
flight after flight of stone steps cut in the natural rock, 
and enclosed in a square tower, we at last reached the 
lower terrace, and could hardly believe our senses 
as the full effect of this ancient Roman villa burst 
upon our view. 

Seven terraces in the background, two on each 
side, laid out in flower-beds and groves, with clipped 
hedges on the labyrinthine walks, statuary of ancient 
designs, Roman temples, arbors, cascades, leaping 
from basin to basin, forming a lovely vista a quarter 
of a mile in length, grottos, oracles, where cypresses 
were trained as sentinels to keep out all sacrilegious 



ROME FROM THE PINCIO. 225 

sounds and intrusive glances, while miniature lakes 
and islands with fleets of iron and wooden ships, 
preserved wonderfully well, though rusted and worm- 
eaten with age, still showed how Roman children 
were trained for war in their very sports and recrea- 
tion. Standing on a solid rock formed into an orna- 
mental balcony, we looked over the Campagna, and 
eighteen miles away we distinctly saw the dome of 
St. Peter's glistening in the sunshine, while a blue 
line in the horizon behind it marked the borders of 
the sea, eight hundred and thirty feet below us. So 
much for the clear atmosphere of Italy. Visiting 
the Casino, we admired the beautiful and curious 
frescos on its stone walls, and then hastened to 
mount the donkeys that impatiently wagged their 
long ears, at the gate leading through the narrow 
streets of the town. Ah, le bon heur! on the one 
appropriated to my use was the crimson velvet saddle 
used by the princesses and other royal visitors to 
Tivoli from all parts of the world. As we mounted, 
our donkeys' heads and our hats were decorated with 
mountain-flowers by black-eyed, barefooted, hatless 
boys, who received our coppers with the air of "mer- 
chant-princes," making their locks of hair serve as 
hat-rims for the occasion. One, who ran beside me as 
we literally waded through mud up the hilly, filthy 
streets, informed me he could speak English. As he 
had given me a clear story in French of his educa- 
tion at the French college, enabling him to speak 
French as well as Italian, his native language, I re- 



226 A woman's experiences IN EUROPE. 

plied to his boast, " Oh, do let me hear you talk in 
English! What can you say?" He stared blankly 
for a moment, then said, " Y^rfine view, nice donkey ! " 
I laughed to myself at the " very fine view " of dirty 
ragged women and children crowded against the 
walls of dingy houses as we passed, so narrow were 
the streets, and tried to induce the boy to talk more 
English, but he said "he could not remember any 
more." Soon we entered the yard of the hotel, 
where, on a cliff overhanging the caves of Neptune, 
stood the temple of Vesta, where Horace and Virgil, 
Augustus and Mecenas, rested, and sung their soul- 
music to the gods, while the cataract of living waters 
leaped into the grottos of the sirens over three hun- 
dred feet below the site of the temple. 

Standing on the brink of a precipice three hundred 
feet deep, we looked with awe across the ravine that 
separated us from a part of the ancient city of Tibur 
(not called Tivoli till the eighth century), and gazed on 
the lovely scenery that inspired the lyrics of Horace ; 
the hills and groves where Zenobia, the great queen 
of Palmyra, held her court, in the days of her captivity, 
through the generous consideration of Aurelian, who 
honored the queen, after proving his victory, by 
causing her to walk in procession, chained to the 
wheels of his chariot or triumphal car. The effect 
of the temple overhanging the precipice, its Corin- 
thian columns of travertine round an open portico, 
the capitals ornamented with lilies, and the entablature 
sculptured with festoons of flowers and heads of 



ROME FROM THE PINCIO. 22/ 

oxen, is very pleasing, and recalls the delight one ex- 
periences on first reading the graphic, historical, and 
biographical letters of Ware in his "Zenobia, or the 
Fall of Palmyra," "Aurelian," and "Julian." Very 
near the temple of Vesta is the temple of the Sibyl, 
an oblong building with open portico of four Ionic 
columns. It has been converted into a church called 
St. George. The incongruous mixture of the ancient 
ornamentation and modern innovations in this 
heathen temple was displeasing in the extreme to all 
sense of fitness, and regard for relics of the past, and 
reverence for a Christian church. 

Our donkeys were drawn up in line, and we began 
to descend the ravine by winding paths, very steep, 
leading to the grottos of Neptune and the Sirens. 
We knew from experience that to let the reins lay on 
the donkeys' necks, and trust to their instinct of self- 
preservation, was the most expedient plan, and look- 
ing up, as terrace after terrace of flowers and vegeta- 
tion of a peculiar olive-green hue rose above us, we 
ignored the fact of the provoking beasts obstinately 
walking on the very edge of the steep sides, so that 
a slip might precipitate us four hundred feet into the 
boiling Niagara-like caldron below, into which "the 
rapid Anio, headlong in its course," had once swept 
the church of St. Lucia and thirty-six dwelling- 
houses, destroying the ancient wall of Sixtus V. 

In travelling in Italy, all nervousness must be laid 
aside, or enjoyment is impossible. One's life is in 
the hands of guides and donkeys. On the descend- 



228 A woman's experiences IN EUROPE. 

ing path a tunnel has been made through the soft 
rock or tufa, with openings into the valley to admit 
light. This tunnel and the grottos were illuminated 
for the Prince of Wales, on his visit, and we were 
asked to pay a fabulous sum for the same honor, 
which we declined, preferring Nature in her own 
light, at any price. The grotto of Neptune, imme- 
diately under the fall, three hundred and twenty feet 
high, was the most curious and grand sight of its 
kind that I ever beheld. Owing to volcanic sulphu- 
reous eruptions, there were trees petrified — even the 
sap — fish, birds, plants of various kinds; and the 
mist rising colored and olive-green, with the rainbow 
arching through it reflected on these weird objects 
at noonday, completed the unearthly effect, and I 
almost looked for Neptune to rise from the waters 
and demand our right to invade his dominions. 
These waters penetrating the rock, forcing their way 
through beds of rock and petrified roots of trees, 
finally plunge into a gulf about seventy feet below, 
where their musical unceasing moan and roar, with 
the whistling winds and whispering breezes that float 
through the cave, have caused the grotto to be named 
after the sirens who might dwell there. After view- 
ing these freaks of nature, we began to ascend the 
side opposite that which we came down, in order to 
reach the tunnel at the top of Monte Catillo, where 
the waters of the Anio are conducted through a 
tunnel nine hundred and eighty feet long. At the 
entrance of this tunnel we stood within an inch of 



ROME FROM THE PINCIO. 229 

the edge of a brink over which the river poured in a 
solid mass, three hundred and twenty feet into the 
valley below. Following the course of the mist and 
spray as it was carried across the meadows by the 
winds, we noticed the freshness of the verdure, and 
were told by the guide that it was a path perpetually 
green. The tunnel is arched, and its sides beautifully 
finished with smooth, square stone; on each side a 
ledge of stone for foot - travellers, with heavy iron 
guards running along the outer edge, to prevent the 
dizzy heads from falling into the river. There were 
about two hundred marble slabs inserted in the walls, 
with inscriptions of the names of crowned heads who 
had visited the tunnel, and the date of their visit. 

Coming once more into the outer world, we seated 
ourselves on a rock commanding a view of Tivoli, the 
valley of the Anio, the Falls, and a magnificent olive 
grove, besides monasteries, ruined temples, and villas 
of the poor Roman nobility, and immediately re- 
signed ourselves to the task of disposing of the lunch 
that a good, patient donkey had brought in a hamper 
for us. We noticed a number of children peeping 
from behind rocks and trees, but not venturing near. 
When our appetites were satisfied, we rose to look after 
the guides, when a rush and scramble was heard, and 
in less time than I take to write it, the scraps of 
chicken, eggs, beef, fruit, and bread, and even egg- 
shells, were literally devoured by six or eight lean, 
hungry-eyed boys, who immediately afterwards pre- 
sented us with Httle bouquets, in return for the 



23Q A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

scraps ! This affected us painfully, and we could not 
doubt their sincerity in refusing the coins we offered, 
until we assured them they were not for the flowers ! 
They became from that moment our friends, and run- 
ning up the sides of the steep hills like antelopes, they 
would come on our paths in most unexpected places 
while we toiled along the mountain, and by the time 
we reached the gates of the city, our saddles and 
hats were filled with mountain-flowers. The natural 
grace of these poor children was marvellously beau- 
tiful. 

Leaving Tivoli, we drove rapidly to Hadrian's 
villa. The ruins of this residence of the Emperor 
Hadrian are grand and imposing beyond description. 
It covered a space of ten miles in circuit, and after 
walking two hours through its groves and ruined 
temples, academies, theatres, libraries, baths, palaces, 
and slave-houses occupied by captives taken in battle, 
we were footsore and only half satisfied with the in- 
spection. 

Here I realized the singular effect of the miasma 
around these Roman ruins. In the very act of walk- 
ing, I was startled from a sound sleep by the voice of 
one of our party exclaiming, ** Sister, she did not hear 
you, look ! she is asleep ! " May I never be called upon 
to play the part of Somnambula again. I cannot tell 
how it terrified me to find myself walking in my sleep 
through a gloomy mass of ruins. We immediately 
re-entered our vettura and drove as rapidly as pos- 
sible towards Rome. The distance was eighteen 



ROME FROM THE PINCIO. 23I 

miles, and we came in sight of the city just in time to 
avoid being locked out, as the sentinels were already 
preparing to close the outer gates. That same even- 
ing I had an invitation to hear Miss Kellogg sing at 
Miss Cushman's reception, and another to attend an 
entertainment at Mr. Hazeltine's, where the Roman 
dances were performed by veritable Roman girls and 
men, in the rich costumes inherited from their an- 
cestors, fabrications of velvet and cloth such as we 
sigh for in vain in these degenerate days of shoddy 
manufactures. Who will deny that experience is by 
industry achieved, after reading this chapter ? 



CHAPTER XXV. 

THE CATACOMBS. 

IN Rome we did not as Rome does, but as 
Americans do. We tired ourselves nigh unto 
death with sight-seeing. For six weeks we drove 
from villa to villa, temple to temple, and church to 
church. Of the latter we sometimes saw five in one 
day ; and yet, when we left Rome there were at least 
fifty, with works of art by the old masters, that we 
had not seen. On one morning, when ten o'clock — • 
our breakfast-hour — came round, I was still in dream- 
land, and on being called rather loudly, I refused 
peremptorily to join the party for the day. With 
Spartan firmness I refused all the tempting offers of 
enjoyment, resisted the pictures of sunny views along 
the Tiber, drawn for my express benefit, and turned 
my face to the wall to sleep again, when my tor- 
mentor left me in disgust. At one o'clock L awoke, 
hungry, cross, and chilled. 

Forebodings of Roman fever, an indescribable un- 
easiness of spirit, and, in short, a decided mal au 
cceur possessed me. A knock at my door. Ah^ le 
bonheurf An old friend from Philadelphia. One of 

those beings who can humor any mood in any 

232 



THE CATACOMBS. 233 

emergency, without appearing to act contrary to her 
disposition. "Well!" she exclaimed, "this is sen- 
sible. I suppose you have been taking a little rest. 
Dear me, if I ever get away from Rome and our 
energetic party, I '11 do the same thing! Feel chilly, 
do you? Don't want any breakfast! You're not 
wide awake yet; so you can't be considered respon- 
sible, even if you do talk nonsense." 

Contradiction avails nothing with such energetic 
characters, so I simply entertained my apprehensions 
of Roman fever in gloomy silence, while my friend 
rang my bell, and ordered a pannier of coals, that is, 
a brass pan of red-hot pebbles, to stand on a tripod 
in the centre of my room (the Roman substitute for 
a stove), and a breakfast that would tempt a Capuchin. 
And then, such a string of reminiscences of Home, 
our own dear America; Philadelphia, before the war; 
floral fairs, lectures, tea - drinkings, Wissahickon, 
horseback-riding on the Schuylkill and supper at the 
Falls! Before I knew I was in Rome again, my 
toilette was completed, the room glowing with a rosy 
shimmering heat, a pink haze as it rose from the 
brassiere ; the sunlight came streaming in my windows 
as the curtains were drawn back, and my breakfast 
was finished; when Miss G. exclaimed, "Dear me! it 
is two o'clock, and I promised to join our party at 
Nazzari's (the cafe on the Piazza D'Espagna), and go 
with them to the Mosaic factory. There, don't 
frown ; I '11 not bore you with an invitation. Go 
wherever your fancy leads you to-day, and I '11 claim 



234 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

your time to-morrow." Away she went, my blessing 
with her. 

And where did my fancy lead me? First, down 
stairs. At the door a new ''trap I' that is the Roman 
name for coupe, drew up as I gave some instructions 
to the porter, while he changed the word entrez to 
sorti over the number of my room, a custom abso- 
lutely necessary in Europe, where it is fashionable to 
live in the sixth story. By looking at this calendar 
your friends are at once informed of your presence 
or absence, and have not the trouble of waiting on 
slow servants or mounting the stairs themselves. 
Soon I was at the Hotel D'Angleterre where my two 
friends of the preceding chapter were stopping. We 
had been introduced at Miss Ellis's in Paris, and were 
well pleased to share the enjoyments of Rome. 

Entrez, said the calendar at madame's number; and 
dismissing the coupe, I went to her- room sans cere- 
monie, and there she sat at her easel, putting some 
finishing touches to the copy of a brigand's head, 
and looking as forlorn as I had felt two hours earlier. 
"Oh!" she exclaimed, "you have just come at the 
right time ! This head has made me positively ner- 
vous. Let us go somewhere and have an adventure 
of some sort; so we get back alive, I don't care 
what!" 

"Delightful, just the companion for me," I replied. 

We took one of twenty carriages at the door; 
and requesting my Spanish friend to give directions 
easily understood by the Italians, so similar are the 



THE CATACOMBS. 235 

two tongues in common conversation, madame 
looked perfectly blank, and we had no answer ready- 
when cocher asked "where he should drive us to?" 
"Anywhere," said madame, in desperation. Past 
the Fountain of Tervi, the Capitol, Roman Forum, 
Coliseum, and Palace of the Caesars we drove, bid- 
ding cocher drive on as he paused at each. We were 
mutually bent on a rest from sight-seeing. After a 
while we drove into the Appian Way by the church 
of the Doinine quo vadis. In the centre of this 
church a piece of marble is laid, with two footprints, 
said to be the footprints of our Saviour. That was 
more than we could resist, so in we walked. My 
Catholic friend reverently approached the monk in 
attendance, and asked him if he did not think that 
tradition rather obscure, and questioned the possi- 
bility of our Saviour's meeting St. Peter on that exact 
spot, when he was never known to be so near Rome. 
" He was constantly performing miracles," replied the 
monk, " and here St. Peter accosted him with Doinine^ 
quo vadis ? or, ' Master, where goest thou ? ' On his 
replying 'to Rome,' St. Peter begged him to turn 
back, or he would be crucified. This stone," the 
monk continued, "marks the place where he stood, 
and is only a copy of the real footprints that are in 
the church of St. Sebastian, three miles further on." 

Purchasing some photographs of the original stone, 
we ordered cocher to tal^e us to St. Sebastian. Enter- 
ing the little church, we found an old monk of the 
Capuchin order on his knees on the cold brick floor, 



236 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

his pale face and emaciated form a sad reproof to 
the fat capon-fed cardinals who passed us on the 
highways, with their scarlet cloaks and splendid 
liveried servants. 

In a few moments the monk rose, and tottered, with 
his aged limbs stiffened with the cold, and with weak- 
ness from hunger, no doubt, towards a bell, which he 
rang, and instantly another monk as old as himself, 
but in better physical condition, entered, lighted the 
candles on the altar, drew aside a green curtain, and 
there appeared behind an iron grating the supposed 
original footprints of our Saviour. We were silenced 
if not convinced, by the reverential manner of the old 
priests, and turned to go out quietly, when we were 
asked in French, the common language of Italian, 
Spanish, and English in Rome, "Are not you going 
to the Catacombs?" Sure enough! we were in St. 
Sebastian, the entrance to one of the most interesting 
parts of the Catacombs! 

In a few moments the monk placed a lighted taper, 
about the thickness of a lead-pencil, and nearly two 
feet long, in the hand of each of us, and took one for 
himself As the sandalled feet of the old monk fell 
heavily on each stone step, and only the small red 
flame of his taper could be seen in advance of us, 
descending deeper into the darkness, my heart nearly 
failed me ; for here were we, only two women, follow- 
ing a feeble old man into a labyrinth of graves in 
total darkness. What if in some current of air all 
these tapers should be extinguished ? That would 



THE CATACOMBS. 23/ 

be more of an adventure than we desired. Down 
those stairs St. Peter, St. Paul, St. Sebastian, and a 
host of Christian martyrs, had walked, many pur- 
sued by vindictive Pagans, and finally stoned, burned 
to death, or torn in pieces in the arena of the Coli- 
seum, for the amusement of eighty thousand spec- 
tators. At the foot of the first flight we entered a 
passage leading to the chapel of St. Sebastian, where 
we found the beautiful recumbent statue of the saint, 
pierced with arrows, his face the type of agony soft- 
ened by Christian resignation. This work, by Gior- 
getti, after his master Bernini, was, to my taste, the 
finest of St. Sebastian ; for all the others seem to wear 
only the smile of St. Stephen, without the conscious- 
ness of pain that a martyr necessarily feels. The 
place where the remains of the saint were buried, 
in a marble urn, under the altar, was pointed out 
to us. 

Before going further, let me state, for the benefit of 
those who have never visited subterranean cemeteries, 
that these immense galleries were excavated first for 
the burial of the dead ; then, when pressed by perse- 
cution, as actual homes for the early Christians, 
their chapels and rooms sometimes cut out of an 
earthy rock, called tufa, and adorned with mosaic or 
frescoed designs illustrating scenes in their lives, or 
Scripture stories, so beautiful in their simplicity and 
yet so unmistakable that we were deeply affected by 
them. The tombs are in tiers, three or four on each 
side of a passage-way, so narrow, sometimes, we were 



238 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

obliged to walk sideways. Each corpse was allowed 
just a bed in which it could lie decently composed, 
and then the place sealed by a marble slab cemented 
in the wall. If a violent death had been suffered, a 
sangliere, or bottle of blood, was placed in a niche 
outside the tomb. Before one the old monk paused, 
inserted his taper in a hole that had been drilled 
through the marble, and bade us look through another 
near it. Getting down on our hands and knees, we 
looked into a little tomb, where the skeleton of a 
child lay with every bone perfectly preserved and evi- 
dently undisturbed, after fifteen hundred years ! Of 
course, the very act of opening this tomb only enough 
to admit of its being seen will cause the air to destroy 
the form in time. The galleries are four and even 
six stories deep, ventilated by shafts, as coal-mines 
are ; and so dismal was it to be down underground 
eighty feet, with three cellars between ourselves and 
the surface of the earth, that sometimes our breath- 
ing seemed to be suspended ; and when our lights 
were almost extinguished by a sudden movement or 
contact with the earthy walls, our terror was extreme. 
Some passages run off to the right, inclining upward, 
others down a steep grade, and the " darkness made 
visible" at each turn was my first literal realization 
of the old saying. " Suppose this old man should 
get lost," whispered my friend; ''there are over five 
hundred miles of these dark entries, and they used 
to beat a drum at the stairway, so one could tell by 
the sound the way out, if the light should go out." 



THE CATACOMBS. 239 

With a husky voice I answered my Job's comforter, 
" Please reserve your suggestions till we reach day- 
light." 

Just at that rather uncomfortable period, when our 
tapers were considerably diminished, the old man ap- 
parently tired and tottering, my friend impatient to 
reach the upper air, and I construing the shadows 
cast on every tomb and into every dark recess into 
some unnatural presence, madame whispered, " Sup- 
pose this old man should not be a monk, and would 
take a notion to kill and rob us ! " " 'Tis the last 
feather that breaks the camel's back." Nothing could 
more effectually have recalled me to common-sense 
than that absurd remark. It dispelled all fears, and 
we explored the chapels, puzzled over the ancient 
inscriptions beautifully lettered on the walls, altars, 
and slabs of tombs, and at last began to ascend the 
stairway towards the daylight, just in time to save a 
few inches of the tapers that had revealed to us but a 
small portion of the resting-places where six millions 
of the dead are interred. 

A few days later we joined a party of sixteen, 
headed by Dr. Smith, a Roman Catholic clergyman 
and President of the Propaganda, or college for the 
education of young priests as missionaries. His ex- 
planations of the curious tombs and inscriptions we 
met at every turn in the catacombs of St. Calixtus 
were extremely interesting ; but our old friend, the 
monk of St. Sebastian, in one hour rambled through 
miles of passages, and allowed us to see with our own 



240 A WOMAN S EXPERIENCES IN EUROPE. 

eyes what Dr. Smith, with so large a party, was 
obliged to pass by, and to draw on his archaeological 
researches for our edification after we had left the 
Catacombs. 

When we left St. Sebastian, our interest having 
been awakened in sight-seeing, notwithstanding our 
resolution on starting out, we continued on the Ap- 
pian Way as far as the tomb of Messalla Corvinus, 
the historian and poet, a friend of Augustus and 
Horace. It is called Casale Rotondo, or Round 
Castle, and is so immense that a farm-house and 
buildings, and an olive-garden are placed on the 
summit. Nothing can be more interesting than the 
sight of these works, most of them seeming to have 
yielded not to the ravages of time, but only when 
war brought robbers and ruffians to break, mar, and 
carry away everything valuable as relics of art or his- 
tory. The Round Tower was erected in the year 1 1, 
and near it are pyramidal ruins, — one, the Sepulchre 
of the Metelli, more like a ruined castle, with the 
blocks of stone carried away from its base, leaving it 
on a narrow pedestal, like a mushroom on its stalk. 
Near this the wife of Cicero was buried ; and for 
miles on each side this once grand avenue leading to 
Rome, through which the triumphant armies marched 
into the city, there are now inscriptions half oblit- 
erated, and bas-reliefs descriptive of scenes in ancient 
history, marble of every quality and shade lining the 
road, while churches, palaces, temples, and monu- 
ments by hundreds are erected and ornamented in 



THE CATACOMBS. 24I 

Rome with what has been excavated from the Appian 
Way. The Emperor Napoleon proposed to the Pope 
a plan to excavate the riches under the bed of the 
Tiber ; but as turning the river from its course may 
cause the Roman fever to slay thousands where now 
but few are victims, the request has been refused. 
Three thousand pounds sterling have been expended 
in the excavations of the Appian Way alone, but the 
riches gained are vast beyond calculation. Just as 
we reached the Round Tower, — at which point the 
grandest view of the Campagna, the mountains of Al- 
bano, the ancient aqueduct, circus of Maximus, that 
might accommodate eight or ten Sanitary Fairs, and 
the villas that crown the seven hills of Rome, may be 
seen, — madame was seized with a desire to try her skill 
in exploring for treasures. We drew up our carriage 
on the roadside, and alighted on a block of marble. 
Selecting a soft, mossy mound, and taking a pointed 
stone for a pick-axe, a considerable quantity of earth 
was soon overturned. Just as madame seemed some- 
what chagrined at my laughter and her apparently 
unsuccessful efforts, the stone struck on a hard sur- 
face, and in a moment a beautiful white cornice of 
Italian marble appeared. The services of cocher 
were now employed, and after fifteen minutes' labor 
he drew up on end a cornice, elegantly wrought in 
diamond pattern, twelve feet long and two in width, 
graduating from two to twelve inches in thickness. 
Standing it on end, madame wrote her name, the 
date of the excavation, and her benediction on her 
H 



242 A WOMAN S EXPERIENCES IN EUROPE. 

trophy, and declared she was enchanted at the idea 
of contributing a block of marble towards the erec- 
tion of another church in the dominions of the Pope. 
On our way home we called at the studio of Bier- 
stadt, the artist whose " Domes of the Yosemite " 
and " Rocky Mountains " are so well known in 
America. He was engaged on the immense painting 
of Vesuvius, and I was amazed to see the boldness 
of design and wonderful effect of coloring with which 
this difficult subject was executed. After leaving 
Vesuvius with an awful impression of its terrible 
power, I stood before Bierstadt's painting, as much 
affected by the evidence of man's power of intellect, 
that can receive and reflect on canvas a picture so 
true that the sense was filled with the presence of the 
natural volcano. On an easel near it was a lovely 
view of the Italian lakes, with their midsummer haze, 
green banks, grazing dells, and ice-crowned mountains 
reflected from light and shadowy inlets, while the 
blue central bed of the lakes, shaded into unfathom- 
able depths, invited the weary eye to rest, while 
dreaming on its hidden recesses, where sirens might 
dwell, and make this beautiful valley th'eir vestibule 
to earth. On the walls were various sketches in- 
tended for future use, but no other paintings for in- 
spection. On our arrival at my hotel, my friends 
greeted me with deserved reproaches for my fickle 
conduct, but immediately on my full confession they 
generously accorded to madame and myself the 
palm for the day's adventures, declaring " the tortoise 
in the fable and I generally came in together." 



CHAPTER XXVL 

VESUVIUS. 

ONE day at dinner, in Rome, we were informed 
that Vesuvius was in active eruption, and we 
could not possibly see the volcano under more auspi- 
cious circumstances. It was an opportune movement 
on the part of Vesuvius for us, for Mr. B. had been 
called to hasten his return to America, and he was 
obliged to take Mrs. B. to Dresden, v/here her chil- 
dren were in apartments in charge of a German 
governess. " We shall be in time for the Carnival at 
its full tide on our return to Rome," said Mr. B., " if 
we go at once to Naples." Mrs. A. had relatives in 
Rome and did not care to repeat a previous visit to 
Naples, so she remained while Mr. and Mrs. B. and 
myself went off the following day. The day's 
journey from Rome to Naples by steam is very plea- 
sant, as every mile of the way presents some new and 
peculiarly interesting object. Castles, ruins, monas- 
teries, olive-groves, vineyards, and in every direction 
the peasantry employed in various occupations ; bear- 
ing on their finely posed heads, sheaves of grain, vases 
of water, or bundles of fruit tied in their gay shawls. 
A man driving a yoke of white oxen, the cart-wheels 

243 



544 ^ woman's experiences in Europe. 



painted blue, and a crimson canopy sheltering his 
contadina wife and little ones from the heat of the 
sun; a mother carrying her bambino on her shoulders, 
its little black eyes so near her own reminding one 
of Murillo's Madonna and Child, for only in southern 
Italy and the Murillo school of portrait-painting do 
we find such eyes. Whole groups of models coming 
in at sunset from the orange-groves and vineyards, 
keep up the impression that all the pictures one has 
seen in the hundreds of galleries of Italy have an 
hour of jubilee when they are permitted to leave their 
frames and roam about at their own sweet will. 

Approaching Naples in the evening, about nine 
o'clock, our train was suddenly filled with a crimson 
light and as suddenly in darkness again. 

" Vesuvius!" we all exclaimed simultaneously, and 
looking out at the mountain now in full view, we saw 
floods of liquid fire boiling over from that terrible 
caldron and streaming in lurid rivers towards the 
bay. A moment more and we were at the station, 
where four chattering Neapolitans engaged them- 
selves to land us safely at the Hotel Russie on the 
bay directly opposite Vesuvius. The, city of Naples 
stretches around the bay in a semicircle of white 
houses backed by gray castles, and still higher in 
the background are towers, fortresses, and convents 
overlooking the city, like sentries planted on their 
wall-like foundations. No one seemed to talk or 
think of anything but the volcano; and after Mrs. B. 
had left my room at midnight, Monsieur having 



1 



VESUVIUS. 245 

resigned his tired-man to a composing sleep long 
before, I tried in vain to shut out the fascination of 
that terrible scene. The bay was restless and turbu- 
lent, and every half-hour I was startled from my sleep 
with the bursting of a new eruption, my room filled 
with the flaring-red light, the next moment succeeded 
by the intense silvery brightness of moonlight. At 
last I resolved to watch the dying monster till morn- 
ing, for it was impossible to forget it a moment. It 
was a lonely and awful watch, — though from the 
Tuileries balls, the gaming-tables of Baden-Baden, 
the gayeties of the Dresden Court, the operas of 
Vienna, the enchantment of Venice, the Cacine of 
Florence, the festivals of Rome, the bull-fights of 
Spain, and from all parts of the world, revellers had 
left their amusements to witness the horrible fascina- 
tion of Vesuvius in death-throes. 

For nearly five months this fiery monster had rev- 
elled in tempest and sunshine, night and day, fasci- 
nating the dreamy mariner swinging in the shrouds 
of his storm-rocked vessel far out in the Mediterra- 
nean; startling the drowsy shepherds from their 
siesta under the cypress - trees ; drawing the ever 
watchful Neapolitan mother from the orange-grove 
to her vine-clad hut, to see her babe safe from the 
land-slide threatened with every shock of a new ex- 
plosion. And now he seemed to resent our boldness 
in watching his last fevered pulsations. Now the 
dark heavy smoke rolls in a straight line over the 
mountain chain that stretches along the coast to 



246 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

Sorrento; again a terrible report; stones, rocks, lava, 
and smoke are thrown violently out, and the very 
earth trembles, while the monster pants more faint 
and exhausted from what seems his expiring effort. 

One moment a tongue of flame, shooting up fifty 
feet, flashed a stream of light that revealed hundreds 
of little boats on the bay, filled with watchers; crowds 
of peasants along the shore, dancing, singing, and 
relating the fearful eruptions of no distant date, when 
whole villages were obliterated in one single day. 
Great streams of red lava flowing down the black 
crusted sides of the mountain, and settling in gutters, 
and forming dozens of lakes of fire, send forth 
steaming sulphureous clouds, that are illumed by 
the glowing crater, and appear like so many float- 
ing, waving devils^ exulting in destruction past and 
coming. 

After such a night one appreciates sunlight. On 
the bay of Naples there is a perpetual prismatic bow 
of light gleaming on the threatening tidal waves, but 
no such promise reassures us of our safety from the 
deluge of fire foaming over the volcano. And yet 
seventy-five thousand souls cling to their homes on 
the mountain side, while rivers of fire roll, surge, 
upheave, and overturn great blocks of crimson paste, 
as if the caldron of hell were boiling over, and seek- 
ing victims beyond its limits. 

But what will not curiosity — call it ambition if 
you will — induce travellers to undertake? — even an 
ascent of Vesuvius, in the face of evident danger. The 



VESUVIUS. 247 

fearful impression of our ascent of the mountain will 
prevent my ever again taking my life in my own 
hands, as we surely did in that venture. Wishing to 
be on the mountain by moonlight, we left Naples in 
time to reach the village of Torre del Greco at three 
o'clock. Oh, what a Babel ^as there! Our guide 
ushered us into a house consisting of one room that 
served as parlor, bed-room, and kitchen; to a Nea- 
politan peasant, his wife, and four children; and 
doffing our crinolines, we were marched out singly, 
and each mounted on a shaggy, good-natured Naples 
pony, not much larger than a Mount St. Bernard 
dog. Now came the tug of war. Without the least 
exaggeration, there were a hundred donkey-drivers 
pulling their stubborn beasts in and out among the 
crowd of beggars, lazzaroni, and offal-gatherers; and 
such a scene of rags, dirt, confusion, and rage at our 
guide's unwillingness to employ the whole crowd for 
eight travellers, one could never possibly imagine. 
When we started there was one man holding on each 
bridle, one each side of our saddle, and one holding 
the horse's tail, as all ponies are conducted in Naples. 
The guide held up his hands in despair at the awful 
expense our trip was likely to cost us, and by dint 
of strong language, kicks, and pushes, right and left, 
he enabled us finally to escape the village with two 
mounted guides and one at each bridle. 

We leave the town by narrow donkey roads walled 
on either side, that cause a cheery reverberation of the 
clatter of ponies' feet on the solid stone steps, cut in 



248 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

low slanting terraces in the hill-side. In single file, 
slowly and laboriously, ponies and guides trudged 
on, the setting sun behind us, Vesuvius in full view 
before us; and now great, hard, sharp pieces of lava, 
like iron, are rolling from under their feet, and often 
cutting through their shoes. The lava of 1854! 
After an hour and a half we reached the road that 
once led to a hermitage, where a meteorological ob- 
servatory was erected for the purpose of making 
scientific examinations into the phenomena of the 
volcano ; but the road was impassable, being entirely 
overrun with lava that resembled a hard paste of 
dough made with ashes. From this point, two 
thousand and eighty feet above the level of the sea, 
we toiled over ridges, ruts, hills, and valleys, even 
mountains of lava. 

Anything more fatiguing than the journey, and 
more dreary than the growing picture of desolation, 
I never experienced, as the sites of Pompeii, Her- 
culaneum, and dozens of buried cities appeared on the 
scene of ruin and devastation. When we finally dis- 
mounted, and were told the rest of the expedition 
must be made on foot, I asked myself how much 
nearer are we expected to go? The reflection from 
the red lake was already as much as I could endure. 
But suppressing my fears, I chimed in with the brave 
remarks of our party for mutual encouragement. 
Producing some twine, the guides commenced a 
singular proceeding. They tied the gentlemen's coat- 
tails and loose pants close around limbs and boots, 



VESUVIUS. 249 

and the ladles' skirts in a thick bunch, "to prevent 
their being torn on sharp edges of rock," they said, 
but it was really to prevent our fanning the rising 
vapors into actual flames. With a guide to drag us 
by the hand, every one of the party being furnished 
with a stout stick, we started towards the lakes and 
streams of liquid fire. At every step the heat be- 
came more intense. We were passing over lava that 
had rolled down only twelve hours before. We 
dared not pause an instant, or our feet were burned; 
if we stepped one inch aside from the spot pointed 
out by the guide's staff, we might plunge our feet 
into fiery paste; sometimes the crust under our feet 
cracked; we sprang from it, and sulphureous flames 
issued from the crevices. At last I found my strength 
exhausted; my guide, perceiving it, cried out, 
^''Courage, Madame; avancez plus loin!'' "Not a 
step," I answered, and all scenes appeared to recede, 
when a glass of bright wine flashed between my eyes 
and the light, and " Drink ! it is the wine of Vesu- 
vius ! " completed the work my overwrought feelings 
had begun ; and not till the reaction produced by a 
whole tumbler of LachrymcB Christie did I compre- 
hend that Pandemonium and Vesuvius were not the 
same place. 

We were so near the flawing red lava, that our 
faces were all crimson with the heat, but we dared to 
remain while coins were thrown into it, and then 
fished out with the metal sticking to them ; eggs were 
roasted, and on the very place where we stood, holes 



250 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

were made, only one inch deep, through which papers 
were hghted for the gentlemen's cigars ! 

Soon we returned to our ponies, began the descent, 
and never will I forget that awfully grand scene ! A 
black mountain, sighing, groaning, breathing out fire 
and smoke. Ruined cities, new villages, illumined 
by its flames. The snowy mountains, rearing their 
white peaks to the clouds that caught the golden 
glow of Vesuvius, and broke into silvery light as the 
full-moon rose triumphant, when the volcano sunk 
into gloomy, smoky darkness. Naples, beautiful 
white crescent city, lying at our feet ; the bay gleam- 
ing with the thousand lights that lay like a radiant 
coronet on the dancing waves ; the deep-blue belt of 
the Mediterranean stretching out, an illimitable line, 
beyond, and I, awe-struck, weary, and subdued, pon- 
dering on the Majesty that " rides on the clouds, and 
holds the seas in the hollow of His hands ! " 



CHAPTER XXVII 

THE CARNIVAL. 

j\ PICNIC to Pompeii! What an awful leveller 
-«-~^ is the genius of railroads. There stands a 
train waiting for an excursion party from New York 
to " take a run down to Pompeii " from Naples ! 
Shrieking defiance at Vesuvius, the impudent engine 
puffs and snorts, as it winds round the base of the 
volcano, and a long line of steam flaunts along under 
the black banner stretching from Vesuvius to Sor- 
rento. Well, Bulwer has preserved the ancient dig- 
nity and charm of Pompeii from utter oblivion, and 
lovers of romance and history have ample food for 
musings within the ruined city. Still, it was curious 
to have a great hamper of provisions stowed away on 
the box of our carriage, for we preferred driving to 
steaming round the bay, in anticipation of a lunch at 
Pompeii ! 

We followed the street that makes the circuit of 
the bay, and a more varied entertainment could 
scarcely be afforded the observer of any other street 
in the world. The siren who is said to have founded 
Naples, or Campania Felix — the Happy, deserves the 
gratitude of pleasure -seekers even in this degen- 

251 



252 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

erate money-making age. In her day, however, 
waistcoats, caps, stockings, and gloves were woven 
from the filaments of shell-fish, and mermen were not 
wanting — at least in appearance. If one hungered, 
he had but to take from the grotto of the siren a 
Phrygian stove_, sprinkle it with hot water, and lo! 
up rose a bed of mushrooms that fried deliciously in 
native oils. 

Fruits grew in the plains, vines on the mountains, 
minerals were in the mines, marbles in the qusjr.'ies, 
pearls and coral were washed on the beach, and Mas- 
saniello commanded an army of happy fishermen ! 
What more need be done in such a city but eat, 
drink, and be merry ? 

The present generation inherits the ancestral 
maxim, but alas ! the wherewithal to support it has 
been robbed partly by Spain, and the rest worn 
threadbare. 

Cloth of silver we found scarce, but greasy cotton 
abounded. Fluttering in the sea-breeze, tempered to 
a genial warmth by the reflections of Vesuvius, thou- 
sands of happy lazzaroni ate macaroni and lived. 
As many thousands of donne libere add to the 
murkiness of the atmosphere. Forty-one convents 
reproach the skies for their unveiled serenity. I 
doubt if all the blisters and cauterizing that divine 
wrath pleases to inflict on Naples through Vesuvius, 
will ever be efficacious till those convents are un- 
roofed. Victor Emmanuel seems to appreciate that 
fact. 



THE CARNIVAL. 253 

At the entrance to Herculaneum, a long debate 
ended in Mrs. B.'s resolution to remain above-ground, 
but Mr. B. gallantly started to descend a hundred feet 
below the surface of the earth with two guides and 
myself. Half-way down the company was reduced 
to one guide and myself; for, unknown to any of us, 
the Naples fever had crept into our poor Monsieur le 
Plus's system, and but for timely attention he would 
shortly have been 7io more. 

I had no particular ambition to rival my great 
ancestress in being the only female occupant of this 
lowest Eden, but there was an attraction at the foot 
of that broad dark stairway that I could not resist. 
The remains of a city whose beginning was unknown, 
although Dionysius Halicarnassensis did conjecture 
its foundation to be properly dated fourteen hundred 
years before Christ. All one can see now, is the fine 
theatre through which Pedro's brother and I searched 
to my heart's content. 

The prompter was not there to prevent my step- 
ping on the stage ; no call-boy questioned my pres- 
ence in the green-room, when I crossed the stage to 
examine the balustrade where the Nonia statues 
once stood; no unruly boys cried "soupe!" Pedro's 
brother took a seat in the auditorium, at my request, 
and so one steady light was secured, for it is n't 
pleasant to realize any sudden darkness a hundred 
feet under -ground. On my way to the stairs, I 
secured a piece of lime that I dug with my nails out 
of the wall, but my guide was innocent of any com- 



254 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

plicity, and I took care to secure him from fine, and 
my relic of Herculaneum from detection, by inclosing 
the latter in a pill-box. 

My friends welcomed me cordially on my return 
to the face of the earth, and on we drove to Pom- 
peii. Its wonders have all been declared. We walked 
the silent streets with the French guards at our heels, 
and an execrable babbler filling our outer ears with 
guide-book repetitions that we tried in vain to ignore. 
One realization took a definite form in our impressions : 
the fact that Pompeii was only a miniature city, so 
small that carriages could not have passed through 
more than one or two streets, and a whole row of 
palaces not exceeding in proportions a block of two- 
story houses in New York. No wonder the stories 
of the baths of Caracalla in Rome appeared like mon- 
strous fables to the circumscribed inhabitants of 
Pompeii. 

Hours flew in contemplation of the most attractive 
ruin of which we know anything, but I saw nothing 
new to relate. One must brood over Pompeii without 
hope of improving on Bulwer's apotheosis. 

Minnette de Stalberg has robbed me of my notes 
on what remains of my visit to southern Italy, and I 
dare not venture a repetition of my Sorrentian expe- 
riences. Their memory is a sweet song to my soul ; 
were I doomed to blindness the rest of my life, I 
could console myself with the never-fading vision of 
that " garden of the world," Sorrento. 

How we tore ourselves away from vineyards and 



THE CARNIVAL. 255 

orange-groves, the Mediterranean and Vesuvius, the 
wonders of Art and Nature in Naples, I cannot 
imagine. But one fine morning we found ourselves 
again in Rome, the whole city alive with preparations 
for the last and noisiest days of the Carnival. 

The bell of the Capitol, that sounds only for the 
deaths of Popes and the beginning of the Carnival — 
so eroes the world — must have moved the stone he- 
roes lining the walls of the Capitol, so loud and long 
were the peals that rang through Rome, to announce 
the Reign of Folly. 

Hastening into the Corso, we were soon placed on 
a balcony fronting the rooms of a hospitable young 
artist, whose fame is a pride to his fellow-artists in 
Rome, and the fruits of whose industry already deco- 
rate many of our art galleries in America, not ex- 
cepting the Union League of Philadelphia, where 
" America Honoring her Fallen Brave " testifies to 
the patriotism that induced Mr. Hazeltine to leave 
the idealizing of his beautiful dreams in Rome for 
the stern realities of war at home when his country 
needed him. There were our stars and stripes, and a 
grand confusion of American, English, Italian, French, 
Spanish, German, and Turkish people, and emblems 
to contribute to the gay scene before us. 

The Corso was literally packed with human beings 
of all ages and sexes. Crimson and white drapery 
from every window and balcony, the balconies on 
every floor of houses five and six stories high; bou- 
quets, bonbons, with jewels, figures in fancy costumes, 



256 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

and streamers of pink, white, and blue ribbons flew 
through the air as if Santa Claus had upset his budget 
on just such a March day as this date exhibits. The 
street was covered with tan to receive the storm of 
confetti that fell like frozen snow through the air. 
Harlequins, clowns, drum-majors, and court -fools 
danced and whirled in circles. Columbine, Flora, 
Medusa, queens, and peasants thronged the street, and 
laughingly returned the pelting or gifts that met them 
at every step. Chariots, with gardens and pyramids 
of flowers and fancy articles, drove under the balco- 
nies, and as fast as their offerings were untied from the 
ends of long sticks reaching to the fair recipients, 
others were returned in place of them, and the con- 
test decided at length by an irresistible hail of confetti 
on horses, chariots, and riders. How it rattled on 
the helmets of the Pope's guard ! How the horses 
pranced and flew from the thickening shower ! But 
good - humor prevailed, and nothing seemed too 
extravagant for the lovers of fun to perpetrate on 
each other. 

At five o'clock the guns sound. Now for the grand 
procession ! First the Senators in gilded carriages, 
with six shining black horses; then the banners of 
velvet and satin, borne by horsemen elegantly attired ; 
then the Senators' pages, with fair, girlish faces, that 
reminded one of the court-scenes in Richelieu, The 
Pope's carriage, the Cardinals, and Swiss Guards, fol- 
lowed by the entire volunteer corps, composed of 
men of every nation, completed the procession. 



THE CARNIVAL. 25/ 

The costumers followed, dancing along to the mili- 
tary music, and the air was filled with shouts of glee. 

Another gun ! The races are to begin. Mounted 
patrolmen are stationed at every cross-street to pre- 
vent carriages from entering the Corso, and light 
dragoons dash through from the Piazza del Popolo, 
where the race begins; to the Riprisa d'Barberi, where 
crimson curtains conceal a heavy canvas stretched 
across the street to stop the horses contending for 
the prizes. The people crowd and jam themselves 
against the houses on the narrow pavements, under 
the balconies, and barely escape the heels of the 
horses. ^Now the horses for the race are led out, 
and their bridles taken off, and plates of metal and 
sharp spikes are suspended from their backs. Like 
six flying demons, they rush through the streets, 
their eyes glowing like fire, blood and foam falling 
from their mouths and nostrils, and the crowd yelling 
frantically as their favorites gain a head, or seem in 
danger of losing the prize. Oh, days of benighted 
barbarism ! here is your relic preserved by a Chris- 
tian people ! On each day, one victim at least fell 
under the feet of these horses, and yet for ten days 
the same crowd, more and more feverish with drink- 
ing and gaming, celebrated their pagan rites. 

On Shrove Tuesday the sports were continued after 
dark, and the " Moccoli " is a scene not easily forgot- 
ten. Every palace, hotel, and private residence bril- 
liantly illuminated, a candle in the hand of every man, 
woman, and child on the balconies and in the streets. 



258 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

each one trying to put out the Hght of the other, and 
crying *^ senza moccolotti/^' when successful. Chariots 
with gilded griffins vomiting fire, blue, red, and green, 
from their wide open jaws, and music, laughter, cries, 
and cheers, making one echo with wonder the words 
of the prophet : " I said of laughter it is mad, and of 
folly what doeth it!" 

So closed the came-vale — " farewell to flesh " — 
and the rest of the night before Lent was spent in the 
opera-houses and at the balls. Prince and peasant 
took his good share of earthly joys up to the very 
sunrise on Ash- Wednesday, when the Pope and Car- 
dinals assembled in the Sistine Chapel, to do each 
other the favor of putting ashes on their heads. 
Some of us preferred the " oil of joy for ashes of 
mourning," and letting the All-seeing Eye find that 
in our hearts which these devotees displayed on 
their brows. But " let each one do what seemeth to 
him right." 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 

AMERICAN ARTISTS IN ROME. 

GOOD PHAETON! touch up your steeds. We 
have so much ground to run over, and time 
presses. We have some leave-takings that cannot be 
omitted, even if we ignore the CoHseum, Pantheon, 
basiHcas, palaces, galleries, villas, fountains, and fac- 
tories, museums, and Domenichino, Guido, Raphael, 
Volterre, Michael Angelo — there ! run around to 
the Margutta, stop at Miss Charlotte Cushman's 
house; it is her reception evening, and we shall 
meet a great many of our American artists there. 

Ushered into the first of four salons, already 
crowded with professionals of every calling, whose 
names are revered for fame, won by pains and perse- 
verance never dreamed of by many of their admirers, 
we are met by the hostess. 

Her bright smile as she greets us, betokens a rare 

and gentle nature. There stands the Abbe Liszt, 

glorying in honorary saintship conferred by the Pope, 

and its accompaniments, a silk robe, silk stockinettes, 

and buckled shoes. He converses in Italian with 

Miss Cushman, and declines invitations to treat the 

throng to one of his compositions without remorse. 

259 



260 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

Miss Cushman is accustomed to audiences, and the 
same power that electrified crowds of witnesses of her 
Shakspearian impersonations, holds this curious 
assemblage under a spell that the most indifferent 
natures acknowledge. Passing on to the second, 
third, and fourth salons, stopping to admire tasteful 
collections of ornaments, statuary, paintings, and pho- 
tographs, we mingle with such ordinary names as the 
Count Cenci, Princess Doria, Lady Montague, wdth 
Hazeltine, Reade, Hosmer, Miss Elizabeth Peabody, 
Hawthorne's sister, whose kind word and genial 
smile sink to the bottom of our hearts ; and we won- 
der if she of that name, who has devoted a lifetime 
to the elevation and adornment of minds, will be re- 
warded with the fame of him of that name who has 
out of the abundance of his purse supplied the hun- 
gry bodies of the needy. Miss Stebbins, Misses 
Williams and Foley, Mr. Mozier, Rogers, and other 
honored Americans are there. But listen ! Music. 

We slip out of the room by a door unobserved 
under its heavy velvet hangings by the uninitiated, 
and re-enter the grand salon, where Miss Cushman is 
seated at the piano, and sings " Mary, call the cattle 
home, across the sands o' Dee ! " We forget where 
we are. We start with the timid Scotch girl from the 
fishing-banks. The rising storm swells the flood and 
overwhelms her frail boat, and we see her floating 
on the foaming waves, while her golden hair gleams 
in braids across her pale, dead face. We hear her 
father's groans and sad lament, and " long after she is 



AMERICAN ARTISTS IN ROME. 261 

buried, we fancy in the evening hour we hear her 
voice, caUing the cattle home!" Not a breath in 
those rooms but was suspended while the last low 
notes of the spirit-echoings died away. Many a tear 
was furtively brushed off of fair, aye, and manly 
cheeks. A burst of applause followed this painful 
silence ; and a smiling, graceful acknowledgment from 
the hostess, her color heightened by the emotion of 
her song, were the only indication of consciousness 
of the effect produced by consummate acting that in- 
terpreted Nature itself 

I am coming. Phaeton ; but whose carriage blocks 
the way ? How absurd ! It is the Abbe Liszt. And 
there he sits, spectacles on nose, a stump of candle in 
his left hand, the score of an opera on his knees 
that his right hand is tracing. Good ! I shall not 
fail to testify to the Abbe Liszt's hack authorship. 

Now it is morning. Drive me around to Mr. T. B. 
Reade's studio. I am curious to test the physiog- 
nomical knowledge of Mr. Hart, the sculptor. 

When I was in Florence, he told me of a few bumps 
that Mr. Reade and I might compare. 

No one but a colored individual in the salon. "But 
I can look about if I like; — Mr. Reade is indis- 
posed." 

I do look about ; that is my business, generally. 
While I am looking about, Scipio Africanus disappears 
with my card. 

"Good morning, Mrs. ! " 

Dear me ! I was startled. I thought it was General 



262 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

Sheridan, on whom I had just turned my back, think- 
ing he looked natural enough to talk ; but it was Mr. 
Reade himself, looking pretty well for a sick man. 

We had never met before, but a list of names dear 
to each of us, linked us in a chain no less binding for 
its great length from America to Rome. When the 
list was exhausted, I rose to go, out of consideration 
for Mr. Reade's indisposition. He would not permit 
it, but assured me my visit was opportune, and had 
already affected his sluggish headache favorably. 

Was ever a woman more fortunate than I ? I could 
gain the credit of administering to a mind diseased, 
while I was satisfying the curiosity that half prompted 
my visit ; really glad, at the same time, to pay the 
tribute to a fine genius that patient labor had bright- 
ened with a rare lustre. Uncalled-for applause is de- 
liberate impertinence, of which I endeavor not to be 
guilty; — but who may resist the enthusiasm that 
grows with every word uttered in praise of one's own 
countryman in view of his successful work in a foreign 
land? 

Knowing the quality of the ear I addressed, I gave 
the reins to my imagination, and wandered over the 
pages of the poet's " New Pastoral." 

Ah ! I knew it. Tears sprang to his eyes when I 
recalled scene after scene described in that poem that 
every American should value for the beautiful sim- 
plicity of its style, while it embodies gems of poetic 
thought as rich and varied as the precious jewels 
hidden in the soil of Pennsylvania, the scene of " the 
Pastoral." 



AMERICAN ARTISTS IN ROME. 263 

I tried my first experiment. 

" Mr. Reade, I wonder you do not illustrate your 
Pastoral/' I remarked; "there are so many pic- 
turesque and statuesque fancies. This for instance : 

* It is the Spring time : April violets glow 
In wayside nooks, close clustering into groups, 
Like shy elves hiding from the traveller's eye ; 
The mellow air, which from the woodland comes, 
Is full of perfume shed from opening buds. 
There the young maple, earlier putting forth. 
In memory of the past dead Autumn gleams. 
And waves its purple torch ; and o'er the spring, 
The willow its own sprouting in the pool 
Hangs watching ; while the dryad in its branches 
Is dreaming of the hours when that fair maid. 
The child and light of yonder cot, shall come. 
And, kneeling, laugh above her urn to see 
Her sweet face wrinkled by prophetic waters.^ " 

"Ah!" he exclaimed, "you have hit my favorite 
lines ; and see ! " — going to a corner where he drew 
out a picture, — "here is my little maid!" 

Truly, there she was, created in the poet's brain 
and then transferred by her author to the canvas! 
One bump for Mr. Hart. Other hnes from " Drifting " 
suggested themselves : 

« The fisher's child. 

With tresses wild, 
Unto the smooth, bright sand beguiled. 

With glowing lips. 

Sings as she skips. 
Or gazes at the far off ships. ^^ 

Before the lines were finished, the picture was un- 
covered. 



264 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

" Oh, Mr. Hart, you could detect a similarity of 
tastes, but why could not you endow me with the 
powers of poet, sculptor, and painter, whose works 
are my delight ! " 

Mr. Reade called on our party and invited us to his 
home on the Piazza de Spagna, where we passed a 
most agreeable evening. 

Mr. Hazeltine, whose marine views one never fully 
appreciates till he sees the atmospheric effects of 
Mediterranean landscapes in real life, displayed a 
splendid collection of paintings in his studio, and 
the wonderful amount of work accomplished in his 
superior style amazed even fellow-artists. 

Mr. Henry Hazeltine, the sculptor, beguiled us of 
precious hours in his studio. 

The patriotic spirit that brought Mr. Hazeltine home 
to America, where his sword could serve his country 
better than his art, was exhibited in the fine composi- 
tion " America honoring her fallen brave," and other 
subjects for the commemoration of our civil triumphs. 

The Christian Mother and the Hindoo Mother, 
presented a fine contrast between the light of a reli- 
gion that threw its sanctifying peace into a. mother's 
heart as she consecrated her child with the rites of 
baptism, and the superstition of the heathen woman 
casting her infant to the monsters of the Ganges, 
while an awful gloom possessed the poor mother's 
soul. 

Many fine groups — historic, poetic, classic, and 
every variety of subject — Mr. Hazeltine was co^n- 



AMERICAN ARTISTS IN ROME. 265 

pleting, and we may find in many of our halls, though 
not near so many as might be, his popular works with 
the productions of other Americans. His Spring and 
Autumn were especially admired. 

One more studio — Miss Emma Stebbins's. 

The studios of our artists in Rome might be mis- 
taken from external appearances for carriage-houses 
and livery stables, or perhaps for flour-mills ! A long 
narrow street, lined on both sides with high houses, 
having small windows and immense barn-doors ; a 
white card, sometimes three on each, with the name 
of the tenant scribbled, and first, second or third, 
fourth, fifth or sixth //^^/^d? (which means story), in- 
dicating the level on which the statuary, not the aspi- 
rations, of the artist are based. 

Through the crowd of white-powdered men and 
boys, who are industriously following out our fair 
artist's instructions, traces of which are discernible 
on each shapeless piece of marble, that will soon de- 
velop the grace of sylphs, cherubs, and heroines of 
history, and the kingly proportions of gods and heroes 
of the past and present — we reach a room where 
Miss Stebbins herself stands in her neat brown linen 
coat-dress, every part of her toilette finished with 
womanly care, and her gentle, delicate face expressing 
a satisfaction indescribable, as she looks around on 
her finished works, an array of lovely images that 
call forth an involuntary exclamation from us as we 
enter : " How beautiful ! " The largest piece is " The 
Angel of the Fountain," intended for the New York 

12 



266 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

Central Park. In describing this wonderful creation 
I will incorporate as much of the artist's own expla- 
nation of it as I can remember. Every one is familiar 
with the beautiful Scripture story of the Pool of Be- 
thesda, mentioned in the fifth chapter of St. John's 
gospel — a certain pool near Jerusalem, where once a 
year an angel descended to " trouble " or agitate the 
waters of healing, into which those who had friends 
to help them were immersed and healed of their in- 
firmities or diseases. What could be more appropri- 
ate for the design of a fountain in a city park, where 
those who linger longest to inhale the very spray 
that cools their fevered brows are the care-worn, 
hard-working people, who look for no help, no rest 
in their weary lives, and come to the fountain for re- 
freshment, and a glimpse — a promise from the All- 
Healing one ? The design is new, and the boldness 
with which it is carried out strikingly exemplifies the 
daring of woman's genius. The Angel is eight feet 
high, poised on its outspread wings, while it hovers 
over a mass of rock from which the water gushes, 
falling into an upper basin. The breeze of the foun- 
tain causes her light drapery to float in graceful folds 
behind her, leaving her feet exposed as they easily 
glide over, without touching the rocks. Her hair, 
the flowing sleeves of her garment, seem wafted along 
on the same light breeze, and the harmony of these 
flowing outlines is lovely and perfect. The basin is 
constructed like that in the square of St. Peter's, with 
an edge that breaks the water into a fine spray or 



AMERICAN ARTISTS IN ROME. 26/ 

mist as it passes into the larger basin below. Between 
the two basins are four smaller figures, attendants on 
the angel, and representing Purity, Temperance, 
Health, and Peace. They stand amid a mass of rock 
and water-plants, from- which the water pours in cas- 
cades into the large basin, and is again sent forth in 
broad jets .from its edge into an immense ground- 
basin below. 

Happy Gotham ! When this ornament graces and 
ennobles still more the pride of your city — Central 
Park, do not forget that a woman's inspiration 
planned and a w^oman's delicate hand fashioned the 
mould from which that heavy work in bronze is 
made, and will stand a monument of her strength for 
ages. Another work of a sacred character is her 
"Angel of Prayer." While she hovers near the peni- 
tent and supplicating ones, her face expressing rapt 
attention, she gathers their petitions, which turn to 
flowers as she bears them up to God. 

The " Lotus Dreamer " is exquisitely beautiful, a 
wreath of lotus -flowers and leaves crowning her 
drooping head, while her bright countenance betrays 
the visions that float through her happy fancies. 
" Columbus " the night before he discovered America 
is splendidly designed and executed. As it has 
already reached our shores, no doubt most of my 
readers are familiar with it. 

Miss Stebbins seldom copies a work unless she 
has express orders. This plan does not benefit her 
purse, but it enables her to work for that lasting fame 



268 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 



and confidence that each new study estabhshes more 
and more, as it shows progress and improvement in 
her art that all, but herself, think perfection. 

Now, good-bye to Rome, where we have seen more 
than a whole volume could contain, and yet have 
much to regret, for there is so much in this most 
wonderful of all cities to see, that in six weeks, 
though we have not lost a day, we have not more 
than glanced at the places of most interest. More 
than half of the three hundred and sixty - eight 
churches, each containing at least one great work 
of art or relic of ancient Christendom, are yet to be 
seen by us. St. Peter's, of course, is an exception. 
We have been there a dozen times, and yet are not 
really acquainted with more than one-third of its rich- 
ness, magnificence, and bewildering immensity. We 
are off for Civita Vecchia. 



I 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

FROM CIVITA VECCHIA TO LONDON. 

READER, have you ever sailed on the Mediter- 
ranean? If you have, I have no advice to 
offer. If not, on Cato's authority, avoid it. That 
wonderful man immortalized himself in bequeathing 
to the world the assurance of his having left it with 
but three regrets. I shared his remorse, and warn 
you, that, were you to share his fame, it would be hardly 
earned by endurance of the sad recollection that you 
travelled once by sea, when you might have gone by 
land. The island of Elba, and those charming coast 
scenes that enter into our longing souls, when "Jack 
Halyard" is first introduced to the nursery, are only 
sickly illusions, viewed from a tossing ship on the 
most poetic of seas ; and that dazzling white coast of 
Marseilles described by Charles Dickens in his open- 
ing chapter of "Little Dorrit," becomes at once and 
forever the embodiment of your own thoughts when 
the port is reached at last. 

A dazzling chapter, but I think it betrays previous 
discomfort, and no doubt it was written immediately 
after a trip by sea from Civita Vecchia to Marseilles. 

After searching twenty-four hours for our passports, 

269 



270 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

- — taken from us as we landed — we look at all the 
interesting features of Marseilles, and then off through 
the loveliest provinces of France, for Paris. Now we 
owe a debt to tired nature, and can but submit to the 
penalty of the wear and tear of four months' incessant 
sight-seeing. We write up neglected correspondence, 
compare notes with the friends who come flocking 
into Paris from all quarters of the Continent, and visit 
some of the thirty-six theatres that were not reached 
before. But no more institutions, or anything in the 
way of sight-seeing that comes under the head of 
labor. We have done our part, and mean henceforth 
to be practical philosophers, looking at other people's 
views, like Irving's Contented Man ; or, if we must 
look for ourselves, it will be through Titbottom's 
Spectacles, over the arm of an easy-chair. It sud- 
denly occurs to us that it might be good policy to 
cross the Channel, and begin our attack on London. 
There is so much to demolish with our withering 
scorn, that we owe an immediate encounter with 
the lion to an afflicted world. We have some 
" American Notes " to cancel or prove warranted. 

Leaving Paris at seven o'clock p. M., by the Calais 
and Dover lines, for London, and arriving at Calais 
at midnight, after a comparatively comfortable sleep 
in the cars, we refreshed ourselves with cups of hot 
coffee and tea, so hot that had we not observed a rule 
good for travellers generally, the alarming cries of 
" five minutes before the boat starts ! " "two minutes ! " 
"only one minute ^ ladies!" would have occasioned 



FROM CIVITA VECCHIA TO LONDON. 27I 

some discomfort, to say the least; but we kept our 
eyes on the captain and officers of the boat, and 
never budged till they laid down their knives and 
forks, and then we knew the last minute was at hand. 
Entering the ladies' cabin, we secured berths by 
placing our parcels and boxes in them, and then 
going to the deck, we resolved to stay there in the 
fresh air, unless compelled by unavoidable circum- 
stances to lie down. The moon was shining glori- 
ously clear, and soon we were rushing over the 
waves, that gleamed with silvery reflections, and 
sometimes glowed with thousands of phosphorescent 
stars that were churned up from the dark water by 
the swiftly revolving wheels. Leaning over the rail- 
ings, we gave ourselves up to the dreamy, listless 
enjoyment of the hour and place, and almost lulled 
to sleep by the indescribably delightful motion of 
our steamer over a quiet sea, we listened to the con- 
versation of a party near us, who were comparing 
notes of travel. 

In one hour and three quarters from the time we 
left Calais we reached Dover, and the English lan- 
guage, which we had not heard except from our 
fellow-travellers, for ten months, assailed our ears in 
cries of ^' Dely T'leegraph!' from cockney newsboys, 
and " 'ot cakes " from red-faced Englishwomen. But 
we joined John Bull in the general scramble for a 
good place in the train, and soon were flying around 
the white cliffs of Dover, looking gratefully over the 
water that had treated us so mildly, in spite of its 



^^'i 



272 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

reputation for rudeness to voyagers. Not a person 
had suffered from sea-sickness. 

To say the country was beautiful over the garden- 
land of England, would be saying very little. An 
English homestead, with its old trees preserved for 
generations, its parks and gardens luxurious with 
verdure and flowers, shady groves, and clear lakes, 
were views charming to us. Entering London by a 
railway running on a level with the chimney-tops of 
the houses for three miles, into the very heart of the 
city, the Houses of Parliament, Westminster Abbey, 
St. Paul's, and the Tower presenting themselves suc- 
cessively, is a sensation almost painful to one who 
has read their histories with a genial spirit, now 
passed away, that in sympathy echoed every sigh of 
Hood, Keats, Charles Lamb, and Shelley, and gloried 
in the greatness of the host of English authors whose 
honored remains rest in Westminster Abbey. We 
may say what we will, our literary and historical in- 
terests are too closely united with those of England 
to separate themselves entirely, and while we smile 
at John Bull's unavailing indignation at our presump- 
tion in being independent, and frown at the perhaps 
natural act of revenging himself during our home 
struggle for the establishment of the Union, by ex- 
ulting when we seemed to grow weary, there is a 
sturdiness and hearty good-will in his soul that an 
American cannot help admiring in spite of John's 
tendency to splutter. 

Were I to say how refreshing to get back to a 



FROM CIVITA VECCHIA TO LONDON. 2/3 

land where Sabbaths are observed as holy days, 
not holidays, as they are interpreted on the Continent, 
it might seem harsh to many. And yet it is even so. 
There is not a city I have visited, — Paris, Dresden, 
Vienna, Florence, Venice, Rome, Naples, and all the 
minor cities, — where there are not some shows or 
places of interest to all travellers, that are closed ex- 
cept on Sundays. In the churches of Europe, the 
people generally attend the early morning masses, 
leaving them the whole day afterwards for out-door 
amusements, and evening entertainments at the the- 
atres and operas. These last Sunday performances 
our party never attended, though the best were re- 
served for the Sabbath, and the court of either city 
was sure to be present. 'Whether Providence re- 
warded our abstinence, or fortune favored us, it is not 
for me to say ; but certain it is, we arrived in each 
place on the eve of some gala-night in the week, and 
heard the first singers, saw the best acting, and sat 
opposite the royal boxes containing nearly all the 
crowned heads of Europe. In each case a citizen 
was sure to say, " How fortunate you are ! such an 
opportunity does not occur once in a year, unless you 
go on Sundays 1 " 

In Rome, we attended service at Dr. Lyman's 
church, just outside the gates of the city. No Pro- 
testant service could be held in the city. Three rows 
of carriages, extending as far as the eye could reach, 
were sufficient comment on the policy of intolerance. 
One member of the Romish Church said : " I hope 



2/4 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

our next Pope will abolish this law, or choose a 
prompter less bigoted than Antonelli." It certainly 
did not seem compatible with the genial remarks and 
readiness of the Pope to bless us as we passed, and 
call us " his wayward children." The sermon of Dr. 
Lyman was the only one we thoroughly enjoyed on 
the Continent, though we honestly tried for eight 
months to find an agreeable Protestant minister. 
While the churches at home are sending out mission- 
aries to Burempoota, let them remember there are 
sojourners in enlightened cities who are thirsting for 
living water — not the flat, stale, insipid stuff that half- 
educated men are drawling out in the Protestant 
churches on the Continent, enough to disgust and 
repel any one who has the least sense of fitness. 
Sometimes I have been reminded so strongly of John 
B. Cough's funny imitations of the intonations and 
gestures of ignorant ministers in Europe, that I have 
become convulsed with laughter, and have been forced 
to beat a sudden retreat from the sanctuary, where 
we had gone for religious observance of the Sab- 
bath. 



CHAPTER XXX. 

LONDON CHURCHES. 

NE Sunday, hearing the Bishop of Oxford was to 
preach at Westminster Abbey at 8 o'clock, we 
dined at five, hurried through our preparations, took a 
carriage, and reached the gates at six-and-a-half 
o'clock. An immense crowd was gathered around the 
gates, which were locked, and we took our places, sup- 
posing the guard stationed inside the iron enclosure 
would soon admit us, when an exclamation, from an 
uninitiated party like our own, drew our attention to a 
board hanging on a post, on which was printed in 
large sign-board letters. Abbey full ! That meant 
there were three thousand people already seated in 
a portion only of the nave, and that no more would 
be admitted ! 

A wise arrangement, as more than that number 
could not get within hearing distance ; and had they 
been allowed to enter, the interesting tombs of the old 
Abbey would have induced them to wander through 
the aisles and disturb those who had gone to worship 
in the most solemn house of God on earth. Oh, the 
spirits that throng around and make one's heart beat 
almost to bursting, as the marble faces, illumined by 

275 



2/6 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

the power of artistic genius, and hallowed by sacred 
memories of the past, look from tombs, monuments, 
pedestals, and niches, where they have stood and been 
almost worshipped by generations of the brightest 
of earth's spirits for eight hundred years ! As the 
music of the grand old organ, accompanying the 
voices of forty men and twenty-four boys chanting a 
litany, floated out on the evening air, the murmur of 
the disappointed crowd was hushed, and we returned 
to our homes not without holy thoughts making 
melody in our hearts, inspired by this music from the 
palace of the dead ! 

In the morning we had a treat. I almost fancied 
I was in Philadelphia, listening to just such a sermon 
as I have heard Mr. Barnes, Dr. Brainerd, and other 
captains in the church militant, preach to their hosts 
of followers. 

We went to the Weigh-House Chapel, Fish Street 
Hill, London, in a metropolitan carriage^ that is, an 
omnibus, " constructed to hold twenty-six persons — 
twelve inside, fourteen out." In a city so large as 
London it has become an absolute necessity to run 
the public conveyances on Sunday. By the request 
of Her Majesty the Queen, the bakers refuse to sell 
hot rolls on Sunday morning, and all business is sus- 
pended, but more than any other day the stages, boats, 
and cars are demanded. The stages stopped at every 
church on the way, "putting down" and " taking up " 
passengers. The ministers are supposed to have ora- 
torical power sufficient to counteract the effect of the 



I 



LONDON CHURCHES. 2/7 

noise, and the congregation a spirit of devotion that 
will ignore the existence of anything outside the sanc- 
tuary. So much for a London idea of church-going. 
Entering the old-fashioned church of straight- 
backed pews, high galleries, and a pulpit somewhere 
near the ceiling, we observed that the minister. Rev. 
Thomas Binney, a non-conformist to the established 
church of England, was reading. We were requested 
to wait at the door till the chapter was finished. " If 
you had not," said a friend, " he would have stopped 
reading and waited for you." Semting ourselves on a 
hard bench, and raising our eyes till it brought our 
necks to a cririky position, we met the full gaze of a 
pair of eyes that shot a gleam of intelligence to our 
very souls, — eyes that had overlooked a congrega- 
tion for forty years, and searched the Scriptures 
seventy years. Mr. Binney wore no gown. One 
very warm morning he was preaching, and he be- 
came so overheated that he was obliged to stop fre- 
quently and wipe the perspiration from his face. 
Finally he quietly took off the gown, laid it on the 
railings, and said, " My friend, you and I part for- 
ever!" went on with his preaching, and has never 
worn a gown since. During the prayer that followed 
the reading, I could not resist looking into the face 
of a man who seemed to be face to face with the Re- 
deemer, as he prayed, " Father, forgive them, they 
know not what they do ! " A hundred others had 
obeyed the same impulse. There were men of all 
professions, watching, with awe and intense interest, 



278 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

the expression of the old minister's face, as lights 
and shadows seemed flitting over his countenance, 
and the furrows in his aged visage were hidden by 
the illumination of the presence of the good angels 
of Youth and Hope. The sermon I shall never for- 
get; the text was, "Stand, therefore, with your loins 
girt about with truth, and having on the breastplate 
of righteousness, and your feet shod with the pre- 
paration of the Gospel of Peace." 

The text was suggested by the death of a veteran 
in the service of (iod. Rev. Dr. Vaughan, editor of 
the British Quarterly Review, who had suddenly 
died in the midst of his labors in a great congrega- 
tion. Mr. Binney spoke of him as a brother, and 
very dear friend, " who had fallen like a warrior with 
his whole armor on, and who slept with his martial 
cloak around him." Every word that fell from his 
lips seemed the essence of a rich experience, and 
each sentence so perfectly finished, raised mind and 
soul to an elevation almost enthusiastic, and yet they 
were weighty with conviction. Just at this point 
Mr. Binney paused and said, "There, now, I have 
said enough; I see you are all half asleep, and this 
heated air affects both people and speaker!" A 
hymn chanted in commemoration of the death of 
Dr. Vaughan, and a benediction, concluded the ser- 
vice. Let no one who visits London fail to go and 
hear Rev. Thomas Binney, author of "The Service 
of Song in the House of the Lord," "Micah, the 
Priest Maker," and numerous other valuable works. 



LONDON CHURCHES. 2^9 

Newman Hall had just written his American Ex- 
periences, for the instruction of the British public. 
His enjoyment of West Point was marred by a great 
hole into which he fell on the way to Cozzens, owing 
to the azvful system of public servantism in America. 
"The name of Newman could not have been more 
appropriately conferred," said a saucy American in 
reply, " unless it had been attached to the man who 
was the Dickens for soiling his feet with American 
mud, and never finding the 'granite walks.'" I 
passed eighteen Sabbaths in London, visited five 
churches in one day, sometimes, but in four months 
of Sundays failed to accomplish half my object. I 
was enabled, however, to take notes of sermons 
graduating in depth from the profundity of Johnson 
to the sophomorical attempts of third sons in new 
gowns. Each has its own value, all evidencing the 
stability of a religious system that no cunning can 
circumvent, and no evil report can blast. 



CHAPTER XXXI. 

AN AMUSING COLLISION. 

MY good fortune did not desert me in London. 
Four months' residence in a long established 
boarding-house afforded opportunities for observing 
the most striking contrasts of national characteristics. 
The guests were all English and American. Our 
hostess was a lady of superior mind, with cultivated 
tastes, and a marvel of amiability, where it was her 
incessant task to ward off offences, parry insinuations 
of disagreeable travellers, give a turn to general dis- 
putes, and reconcile differences of opinion that no one 
else could reconcile. 

I have in my mind a curious scene. Let me pre- 
sent it as it comes to me, with its freshness and 
jollity. 

The author of " Bitter-Sweet " occupies the chair 
of honor. His countenance the latter, or trying to be ; 
his mood the former, though trying not to be, as if 
his liver and cold sausage-pies were engaged in irre- 
pressible conflict. But the real disturbing opposition 
being a pale-faced Italian spiritualist, who persisted in 
exposing his frightful theory of transmigration with 

the revolting details of the *' unloosing " of damned 

280 



AN AMUSING COLLISION. 28l 

Spirits from undecaying corpses, till my hair and the 
quills of the fretted porcupine stood parallel with 
each other, and the Doctor, with a Johnsonian air, 
said with awful dignity, " Sir ! as I have not the 
slightest sympathy with your theme, I must beg you 
to excuse a further discussion of the question." 

A faint sigh of relief from the gentle "Cathrina" 
at the Doctor's side, went round the board. No 
woman could help loving Cathrina, and one woman 
could not help quarrelling with the Doctor. Pos- 
sibly he may have forgotten the latter circumstance 
with the last sigh of bitter-ness, when he presented his 
peace-offering in the shape of music and words of 
" The Roselet on the Heather." But I hold them in 
everlasting remembrance of refreshing June gusts. 
Teddy hears with his father's poetic ear his mother's 
inaudible sigh, and exclaims, just like those lovely - 
boys so convenient on such occasions, "Pa! this is 
the first real Yankee beafsteak I 've had since we ^ 
left home!" A shout of laughter greeted this 
material change of subjects from spiritualism to sub- 
stantiality, in which the English children, who are 
never permitted to speak at table, could not re- 
sist joining, and they escaped reproach. A clergy- ^ 
man from Cincinnati remarked, " One week from to- 
day, sir, I must sail for New York, and there is noth- 
ing this side of the burning lake I dread more!" 
" Burning lakes will not have much sympathy from 
the Doctor, or I mistake," whispered a neighbor in 
my ear. A gentleman from Chicago offered the 



282 A woman's experiences IN EUROPE. 

clergyman condolence, and wound up with a regret 
that there were no American steamers to sail in. An 
Englishman, on the opposite side, took the floor and 
expatiated on the superiority of English vessels, 
officers, and crews. Chicago came in with torrents 
of exclamation-points, and brought in his instances 
of American ships, and officers, and sailors — and — 
" Speaking-trumpets ! " roared John Bull. 

" Yes, and fellows that know when and how to use, 
them ! " replied Chicago, amid screams of laughter. 

Dreading a reaction from this highly emotive con- 
dition of the temperature, a Baltimore youth slyly 
slipped a card under the edge of my plate on which 
was written : 

"Ask Washington what he saw yesterday!" 
Knowing Washington's engagement as news- 
paper correspondent, I understood the intimation 
that he had been practising some outrageous literary 
imposture, and after a few swallows of coffee I suc- 
ceeded in gaining sufficient command of countenance 
to ask the question, though three or four of the com- 
pany who were posted on the trick to be played on 
Washington, actually shook the table with sup- 
pressed laughter. 

The reply of the youth, after a quick searching 
glance, baffled by my fortified visage, was a marvel- 
lous piece of elocution. The subject Eton College, to 
which Gray's adjectives, Dr. Johnson's periods, 
Curtis's word-tints, Charles Dickens's grotesque nar- 
ratives, and Bayard Taylor's comprehensive outlines 



AN AMUSING COLLISION. 283 

faded to insignificance. When our orator finished, 
I expressed my sense of his excellence in memoriz- 
ing and portraying impressions of scenery; but a 
sickly smile overspread his countenance, and finally, 
when I pushed my compliments to unbounded 
praise, he burst into a laugh, blushing with convic- 
tion at the same time, and exclaimed, " By George ! 
Baltimore, you 've been peaching ! " 

If we had been Lady Macbeth's guests on that 
occasion, instead of chance companions, Banquo's 
ghost would have lost the day. Our merriment ban- 
ished Damiani's ghost, and dispelled the vision of 
the burning lake itself Baltimore's real view of Eton 
was that distant poetic perspective one catches from 
the Elizabeth terrace of St. George's Tower at 
Windsor. But no doubt public enthusiasm and 
"mother's and sister's tears" were as genuine when 
the description by "our artist on the spot" appeared, 
as if he had really been there. 

Here was a grand opportunity for our English 
friends. And what Englishman ever slighted an op- 
portunity to fight? Dickens was seized upon and 
placed before me, with his denunciatory sentences on 
our "licentious press," our "herd of journals," of 
"newspaper politics as. a national amusement," and 
of the " hopelessness of high moral improvement in 
America while the newspaper press remained in its 
present abject state." I had just been reviewing 
those interesting notes, and with angelic amiability I 
recalled in solid paragraphs the following additional 
views of Mr. Dickens: — 



284 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

" But while that Press has its evil eye in every 
house, and its black hand in every appointment in 
the state, from a President to a postman ; while, with 
ribald slander for its only stock in trade, it is the 
standard literature of an enormous class, who must 
find their reading in a newspaper, or they will not read 
at all ; so long must its odium be upon the country's 
head, and so long must the evil it works be plainly 
visible in the Republic. 

*' To those who are accustomed to the leading Eng- 
lish journals, or to the respectable journals of the Con- 
tinent of Europe, — to those who are accustomed to 
anything else in print and paper, — it would be im- 
possible, without an amount of extract for which I 
have neither space nor inclination, to convey an ade- 
quate idea of this frightful engine in America. But 
if any man desire confirmation of my statement on 
this head, let him repair to any place in this city 
of London where scattered numbers of these publi- 
cations are to be found, and there let him form his own 
opinion." 

With what raptures my " admission " was received 
I will not undertake to describe ; but there was one 
accusation of Mr. Dickens that my hearer seemed to 
have forgotten — our *' proverbial fickleness." 

1 saw the moment was favorable for my purpose, 
and remarked to my eloquent neighbor, ** It is true 
that our spirit of independence carries us to extremes, 
but I cannot think it would be safe to put a reforming 
hammer for our literary ring into arbitrary hands, as 
monarchical governments require." 



n 



AN AMUSING COLLISION. 285 

" Oil, allow me," he exclaimed, " to correct you ; 
we have more real independence than you Americans, 
you know ! Hev you seen Punch this week ? " 

No, I had not, I confessed. 

" Oh, it is capital ! they pubHsh a dreadful carica- 
ture of Lud Blank." 

"And how does that affect his lordship? " I asked. 

" Oh, it was so clever^ that when a lower member 
asked, ' Me Lud, 'av you seen Punch ? ' * Yes', said 'is 
ludship, taking a copy from 'is pocket, and 'e larfed 
'eartily.' " 

" But Her Majesty is secure from all ^ this sort of 
thing,'" I intimated. 

" Not at all," continued my informant, enthusiasti- 
cally. " Why, some rogue chalked on the door of the 
Presence Chamber at Windsor, 'Welcome 'ome, Mrs. 
John Brown ! ' while 'er Majesty was in the 'Igh- 
lands." 

" That is more than a servant in the White House 
would dare do, certainly," I admitted again. 

" By the way, I can show you something as an in- 
stance of our liberty of the press." And it was pro- 
duced forthwith. 

Punch exhibited a very fat woman, in very short 
clothes, a broad hat, a book under her arm, entitled 
" My Journey in the Highlands," the figure descend- 
ing a steep hill, staff in hand, with doleful counte- 
nance, and followed by John Brown, with a cham- 
pagne-basket on his arm. This picture was under- 
lined, "Not the Merry Swiss Girl." 

"And this is British cleverness I' I exclaimed, "that 



286 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

we call by another name I would not like to pro- 
nounce ; and if that picture had illustrated any Pres- 
ident's wife, popular feeling in America would have 
ruined the financial prospects of the editor. You 
are fairly caught in your own toils. Mr. Dickens 
had no necessity to cross the ocean for a ventilation 
of his animosity towards the Press. As to his remarks 
on our love of trade as preventive of our literary 
improvement, they apply with more force to the 
London shopkeepers. Because your Queen refuses 
to do penance for the audacity of remaining away from 
London, where she must have the gate at Temple 
Bar shut in her face, and afford Punch an opportu- 
nity to amuse London, and enliven trade for the shop- 
keepers, you do not hesitate to insult her, and hold 
her up before the world as a * wine-bibber,' a ' miserly 
queen,' a ' half idiot,' and goodness knows what not." 

Here, becoming thoroughly roused, my British 
friend threw Mrs. Lincoln at what he supposed would 
be my diminished head. 

" I deplore the mistake our Congress has made in 
that matter," I replied ; " but as to the Mittlenessof 
the people in counting Mrs. Lincoln's clothes-list, 
till she appeased them by offering it for sale,' let me 
^ remind you of an equally small business in England. 
Your journals gave out the following statements : — 
The Queen, invited to witness the uncovering of a 
statue of the Prince Consort, was placed opposite a 
row of German princes, one of whom, with his wife 
and eight children, wept freely at the Queen's emo- 
tion. Btit they had only six handkerchiefs, whereupon 



AN AMUSING COLLISION. 28/ 

the Queen ordered a dozen more for their use. The 
father of this sympathetic family proved to be Prince 
Christian. Her Majesty sent for the prince the next 
day, and instead of offering him her own hand, as the 
joyous prince supposed she intended, she offered the 
Princess Helena's hand in marriage. The prince con- 
fessed his family was already numerous, his purse ^ 
empty, his wardrobe scant, as Her Majesty had 
already observed. The wife and eight children, she 
replied, were no obstacle whatever, as the law of sov- 
ereignty would declare the case no marriage. As to 
his purse : only come to England, and promise not to 
take the benefit of his allowance out of the kingdom, 
and Parliament would take care of its prestige in the 
liberal supply of means. As to his wardrobe, he 
should have six new shirts immediately ! 

" If you can match that paragraph with anything 
in American journalism against Mrs. Lincoln, or the 
administration toward her, I will cease to defend my ^ 
cause," I said, in conclusion, " and grant Mr. Dickens 
was a fair, impartial critic." 

Our combat was all carried on without attracting 
any one's attention ; and at this point a lull in the 
hum of general conversation endangered the privacy 
of the dialogue, which, for reasons known best to 
himself, my antagonist had chosen to preserve so far. 
So I immediately joined the circle of friends from 
whom I had been drawn away ; and with true British 
policy, the enemy hesitated till it was too late to 
renew the attack, and I escaped further infliction on 
behalf of my degenerate countrymen. 



CHAPTER XXXII. 

WATER IN LONDON. 

ONE of the most recent and finest improvements 
in London, was that of the Thames embank- 
ment, with a magnificent promenade and drive, of 
Portland stone, that gives the city along the river the 
same appearance from the bridges so charming to 
travellers in cities on the Continent. Under the em- 
bankment are great arches, through which an under- 
ground railway is laid in connection with those that 
already undermine the city in every direction. 

The " dead-meat market " — a pure Londonism — 
has the advantage of this railway, all the cattle being 
killed and dressed outside the city and brought in 
trains to the dead -meat elevators of the immense 
market-house in the city proper. 

From Holborn Hill to St. Sepulchre's an extensive 
bridge is building, that will enable foot-passengers, 
cabs, and omnibuses to avoid the steep, muddy 
streets where drags and breaks hardly suffice to make 
driving safe in rainy weather. A series of large 
sewers, amounting to one hundred and eighty-five 
miles of pipe, is nearly completed, at a cost of four 
million pounds sterling! When all the scaffold- 



WATER IN LONDON. 289 

ing is taken down, the barriers removed, and the rub- 
bish cleared away, some of the citizens even who 
have accused the Queen of absorbing their profits for 
her own benefit, will look on these magnificent im- 
provements, and cry " God save the Queen!" with 
somewhat of the old earnestness and satisfaction. 

In London there are seventy thousand houses that 
have no supply whatever of water. Add to this fact 
the consideration that in the course of one hundred 
and sixty miles the Thames receives the refuse out- 
pourings of two hundred and twenty-three cities, 
towns, and villages, that the city of London itself ' 
discharges through one hundred and thirty sewers 
the enormous tribute of one hundred and thirty 
thousand tons of refuse water daily, and the source of 
plagues and pestilence will cease to be a speculation. 

The benevolent institutions of England are innu- 
merable; the patience of the people who support 
them is marvellous. They boast of their charities 
and groan at their poor-rates in the same breath ; and 
while five hundred and fifty charitable institutions 
under royal patronage, and hundreds of less note 
supported by voluntary contribution, open their doors 
to the wretched and hungry, signals of distress flutter 
in every quarter of London. France and England 
do miDre for their poor than any other monarchical 
governments, but America has no poor. I say it 
advisedly, that America has no class of people who 
are necessarily born to poverty. Crime and misfor- 
tune reduce individuals and families, in all classes of 

IS 



290 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

society, to beggary sometimes, but where is the 
American girl or boy who corresponds in caste with 
the EngHsh children living out at service in families 
where their wages are less than a rag-picker's profits? 
They are in our factories, stores, and public-schools, 
earning a fair and independent living. 

But I am forgetting my subject — water in Lon- 
don. While I fret over the necessity of so many 
charitable institutions, and rejoice at the good fortune 
of the Irish emigrants who find work and good 
wages in America, I cannot help being interested in 
the institutions called baths and wash-houses for the 
^ poor, erected as a sanitary measure, to keep off the 
plague from London. Seventy thousand houses 
have no supply of water; consequently in every 
district there are two or three public baths and wash- 
houses, where women and men can bathe first-class 
(mark the silly distinction), in stone tubs, for four- 
pence, towels, soap, and mat for the feet included; or 
second class, in zinc tubs, no mat for the feet, for 
two-pence. In the wash-houses each woman is sup- 
plied with a tub, boiler, hot and cold water, a clothes- 
wringer, hot air-chamber, where the clothes dry in 
ten minutes, a mangle and hot irons for three ha'pence 
an hour! I have seen sixty-two women washing the 

clothes for their families, and the offices filled with 
% ... 

others waiting with bundles, that would be soon 

white and clean, while the contagion they might 

otherwise send through the city would sink through 

the waste-pipes from each tub into the sewers that 

run under the city. 



WATER IN LONDON. 29I 

At every corner of London there is a street foun- 
tain, where men and boys can quench their thirst, 
and save the pennies formerly deposited in the tills 
of the gin-shops. Fountains for horses stand in the 
middle of cross-roads and streets, enabling the carters 
to avoid the hostler's fee at the corner tavern. At 
Hyde Park, in the Serpentine, eight hundred boys 
plunge and swim, morning and evening, while a 
semicircle of life -boats surrounds them, with com- 
missioned officers to watch them, and prevent their 
drowning. The poor are not excluded, but urged to 
come; and it is a strange sight to behold troops of 
bright clean-faced boys, clothed in rags, issuing from 
the gates of Hyde Park at the hour when fashion, 
wearied with pleasure, rolls in her carriage from the 
same gateway, clothed in purple and fine linen. 
There is an anomaly in the government and institu- 
tions of all foreign cities, but most of all in London. 
Is it because the people call more loudly for their 
rights, and the government, hearing them, clutches 
the crown with a firmer grasp ? 

In the city where Steele and Goldsmith, and their 
familiars, poured out goblets of sparkling mirth for 
the world to quaff, while their own hearts were 
parched with the fever of care, sometimes even 
hungering for bread, one walks through St. Giles, 
pauses at Seven Dials, where filth and rags radiate, 
then turning at nightfall towards the "Holborn 
Union," or almshouse, to see the paupers come for 
shelter from the stormy night, and a breakfast to 



292 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

sustain them through another day of wretchedness, 
the question will arise, "Have all the sermons of 
self-denying men, the lectures of past and present 
Goughs, Thackeray's sarcasms, Dickens's expositions, 
the 'Cry of the Children,' 'The Bridge of Sighs,' 
*The Song of the Shirt,' — have all these been 
written and uttered in vain?" In answer to this 
question we recall Montgomery's consoHng lines : 

" Thou canst not toil in vain ; 

Cold, heat, and moist and dry, 
Shall foster and mature the grain 
For garners in the sky." 

But on both sides of the street through which I 
walk are the substantial proofs of all these promises. 
" Hospital for Sick Children, supported by voluntary 
contribution," stands out in large letters on a great 
brown-stone building, and thirteen perambulators, or 
children's hand-carriages, are on the pavement wait- 
ing for the poor mothers who have taken their sick 
children to the skilful physician, tender nurse, and soft 
beds, that their poverty denies them at home. And 
one after another comes out weeping, looks wistfully 
at the empty coach, takes it back to the place where 
she borrowed it, thanks God her child is cared for, 
and sobs herself to sleep. " Night School for Trades- 
men," " Homoeopathic Hospital for General Diseases," 
"Home for the Aged and Infirm," — all supported by 
voluntary contributions ! 

With one of the Board of Trustees we entered a 
long, wide passage, opening into a narrow, dirty 



WATER IN LONDON. 2g2 

street, just as the vagrants, numbering about three 
hundred, were crawling out, pale-faced and dejected, 
without a home, or even a friend in the world. 

They had begged shelter at the door of the Union 
the night before, were immediately taken to the 
Board-room, their persons searched, and as no money 
was found sufficient to pay for lodgings, they were 
fed, a comfortable bed provided, and they were dis- 
missed in the morning. Where did they go the 
next night ? In the daily papers we read, " Found 
drowned," " Died in the Watch-House," " Committed 
for Theft," " Horrible Murder," and we shudder — 
and forget it ! Going into the Board-room, we stood 
in an open door, looking into an office through which 
a long line of men, women, and children, seventeen 
hundred in number, slowly moved, as their names 
were called from a roll-book, and money and bread 
were given to each according to the number of pau- 
pers he or she represented. If I had to look at those 
faces every day, and see the want and woe expressed 
in eyes flashing with fever or dull with despair, my 
place would soon be with the insane, of whom there 
are ninety-two in the wards. Oh, you who have won- 
dered at the power of Charles Dickens's " creations," 
if you pass through London and witness these scenes, 
you will say, "how graphic are his descriptions!" 
There is not a character, not a scene he portrays of 
London life, that one cannot see every day. Dickens 
originated literally nothing, not even " Quilp." 

From the Board-room we were conducted into a 



294 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

square yard, where a number of old men sat listlessly 
sunning themselves, vacancy or unusual alertness in 
their countenances betraying the diseased or worn- 
out condition of the brain. Adjoining was a little 
garden with miniature fountains of aquariums and 
bird-houses, grottos, and games provided for the 
amusement and entertainment of these doubly in- 
firm creatures. They occupied the garden alter- 
nately with the female inmates on the other side the 
building. Ascending a short flight of steps from the 
ground-floor, we came to the sick-wards. There were 
no contagious diseases, but every other form of suf- 
fering that could be imagined was exhibited in those 
wards. Shrinking from contact with misery that I 
felt powerless to relieve, I would have escaped from 
the room, but a very aged woman fixed her glassy 
eyes on me, and beckoning me to her side, called 
out, " Come here, my dear, I have something to tell 
you ! " Approaching her, half afraid of her ghastly 
old visage, what was my horror when she raised a 
light green veil that partly covered her face, and 
laughing aloud, said, " You see how I take care of 
my complexion ; they send me out in the sun, and 
my tender skin will not bear the exposure, but this 
veil keeps it fair enough ! " I left her, wondering if 
vanity had led to sin, and sin to poverty and neglect, 
and finally to the insane ward of an Alms House ! 
A blind woman sat, with deadly pale face, reading a 
chapter from a book of St. John prepared with raised 
letters. To our questions she replied with remark- 



WATER IN LONDON. 295 

able intelligence, and said, as her face beamed with 
happiness, " They are preparing a French book for 
me, and I shall be so glad to study it ! " From what 
phase of insanity does that woman suffer? we asked. 
Only periodical melancholy arising from entire lone- 
liness, having no living relation, and being totally 
blind! Further on we came to the school-room. 
The children were enjoying a temperance song. 
Nearly every inmate — men, women, and children — 
belonged to a temperance band. They organized it 
without any solicitation on the part of the managers, 
and often, when declared exempt from the pledge by 
the house physicians, refused to take stimulants as 
medicine. Who can paint the scenes and experiences 
that niade even these poor outcasts dread the power 
of drink ! From the school-room we descended to 
the oakum-room. Yes, Mr. Dickens, we saw every- 
thing there just as you described it in David Copper- 
field. The blackened bits and ends of tarred rope, 
the bench and table stained and hacked with pen- 
knives, the rusty nail that had torn the flesh from 
David's hand while he pulled the knotty rope over it 
to ravel it into shreds, of which a great pile lay on 
the floor. As nothing was said about punishment, 
I ventured the remark, " I suppose only those who 
are in disgrace for bad behavior are made to pick 
oakum." " Yes," was the reply, " and those vagrants 
who are able but unwilling to work, have to pick 
oakum before they leave the house in the morning, 
and it generally insures their not coming back again." 



296 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

A bell rang, and we were conducted to the refectory. 
At a large table a man was carving meat, a boy 
weighing it for each plate placed in a wooden tray on 
the shoulder of a boy, who kept count of the dishes 
till the tray was full, then covering it over with a lid, 
rushed off to a sick-ward. Ten boys were employed 
in waiting on the wards, and five were weighing 
the potatoes and bread, and measuring out the soup. 
In the general refectory, long, narrow tables were 
arranged for both males and females, so that they 
occupied separate parts of the room, but facing each 
other. Presently the children entered : one hundred 
and fifty, from two years of age to twelve. May I 
never again see the knowledge, cunning, sadness, 
stupidity, and weariness that want and vice had 
stamped on those poor little faces ! Next came two 
hundred women and young girls. They were stronger 
types of the little ones. Then, the saddest of all, 
over a hundred men and boys ! Strength and man- 
hood utterly obliterated. At the tap of a bell, all 
rose and sung a hymn. Above their sad voices, I 
heard my own heart beating. I cried out in my soul, 
" Oh, God ! what wretches we are to waste means that 
might prevent, but can never heal such woe as this." 
I was relating my impressions of this scene to a 
London banker, when he burst into a laugh and said, 
" The best sarcasm on English pauperism and prison- 
laws one of our clever convicts wrote." And the next 
day he sent me the following 



WATER IN LONDON. 29/ 

LINES WRITTEN BY A PRISONER CONDEMNED TO PENAL 

SERVITUDE. 

I may not take my walks abroad, 

I 'm under lock and key j 
And much the public I applaud 

For all their care of me. 

Not more than others I deserve, 

Indeed much less than more ; 
Yet I have food, while others starve 

And beg from door to door. 

The honest pauper in the street. 

Half naked I behold. 
While I am clad from head to foot. 

And covered from the cold. 

Thousands there are who scarce can tell 

Where they may lay their head, 
But I 've a warm and well-aired cell, 

A bath, good books, good bed. 

While they are fed on workhouse fare. 

And grudged their scanty food. 
Three times a day my meals I get. 

Sufficient, wholesome, good. 

Then to the British public health. 

Who all our care relieves. 
And while they treat us as they do. 

They '11 never want for thieves ! 



CHAPTER XXXIII. 

WINE VAULTS UNDER LONDON DOCKS. 

THE London docks, visited by all foreigners who 
pass through London, are objects of great in- 
terest, viewing them from the outside, as harbors, 
where canal crosses canal, till they extend to a city 
combining the two strange effects of Venice with 
her liquid thoroughfares, and China with her floating 
houses. 

But under this scene, familiar to every one from 
description, if not actual view, is a still more curious 
sight, which it is more difficult to obtain. Thanks to 
the efforts of a relative of a merchant who had stores 
deposited there, we were provided with a pass to the 
wine-vaults of the East Cooper, or branch of the 
London docks. There were six in the party, and 
after a long, rainy, muddy drive through the old part 
of the city, past Billingsgate fish-market, where cock- 
ney men and boys substitute the world-renowned fish- 
women of the past, and there is less sauce sold with 
the fish, past the Tower, with its many spires and 
gloomy battlements, we at length arrived at the en- 
trance of the docks. A government official examined 
our passes, and we drove on through a wilderness of 

298 



WINE VAULTS UNDER LONDON DOCKS. 299 

casks, coils of rope, and heaps of bran, till we reached 
the door of cellar No. 4. 

Going down a flight of stone steps, we came to a 
sort of vestibule, where, on one side, was an office for 
the examination and signing of passes ; on the other, 
a place fitted up with shelves, having brass eyes like 
those made to receive the ends of door-bolts, a long, 
wedge-shaped walnut paddle, with a metal lamp on 
the broad end, sticking in each eye. An oily-fingered, 
dirty-faced individual, strikingly resembling " Lamps " 
of " Mugby Junction," stood in the shade of this re- 
cess, a companion sitting behind him, whose name 
was James and Number Two, as a calendar on the wall 
informed us, over which was written, " Usher through 
the vaults for Monday." " Lamps" placed a light in 
each of our hands, and we entered the vaults. Im- 
agine eleven acres of ground, or rather underground, 
under streets and below the water-line of the Thames, 
divided into long, vaulted alley-ways, covered with 
saw-dust, a double iron track for barrels to roll on 
running directly in the centre, on either side three 
tiers of barrels of port, old port-wine, amounting in 
all to thirty-five thousand barrels of port alone — 
and you have one of the eighteen large cellars under 
the docks. We had the privilege of tasting the port 
number 000 — three different barrels. Tasting orders 
are frequently given for Sherry, but seldom for Port, 
and with a chuckle of self-satisfaction our conductor 
congratulated us ! But I was already dizzy with the 
fumes of thirty -five thousand barrels, and the 



300 A WOMAN S EXPERIENCES IN EUROPE. 



% 



flickering of our lamps in the dark archways, pene- 
trated by bhnding rays, Hke ropes of fire, run- 
ning from and meeting half-way between the reflector, 
as powerful as we use on steam-engines, at one end 
of each alley, and then opening into the main rotunda 
at the other end. On the ceilings hung the fungus 
formed from the evaporation. One piece, called the 
crocodile, from its shape, a great ridgy animal cling- 
ing with its feet to the ceiling, was a hundred and 
fifty years old ! Nearly all the fungus was of a dun 
color, resembling the inside nap of lead-colored wad- 
ding, but occasionally bleached white, when it looked 
like the stalactites in caves. Our conductor was not 
so superstitious about the fungus as Joey Ladle, and 
declared "pieces had often fallen on him and he 
was n't dead yet." Still he seemed very proud of it, 
and with great reverence hunted around for the 
largest and most curious formations, giving us some 
little incident, curious and interesting, about each 
piece. In the brandy and whisky vaults the fungus 
is all white. 

Scarcely knowing whether I was on my head or 
my feet, the flickering lights and dark edges of the 
barrels, fungus, saw-dust, people and posts dancing in 
wild procession through my brain, I stopped with the 
rest before a row of barrels marked ooo. The usher 
drove a sharp steel instrument through the end of the 
first one, blew into it, and out spurted a stream of 
rich port fifty years old ! Hoping an internal appli- 
cation would remedy the dizziness caused by inhal- 



WINE VAULTS UNDER LONDON DOCKS. 3OI 

ing it, I tasted and felt instantly better, but the second 
and third barrels I dared not " try," and even our 
usher threw away one glass for which many an 
epicure would have given fifty dollars sterling. The 
holes were filled up again by sticking wooden pegs 
in them, chopping them off, and leaving the barrels as 
sound and secure as if they had never been opened. 

Emerging from these cellars, we were glad to breathe 
pure air again, and we wondered how the men em- 
ployed there could ever be sober ; how the human 
race could spend so much time, labor, money, 
. strength, and happiness, in the manufacture of drinks 
that intoxicate and reduce them to wretched depend- 
ence on the mercies of those who despise their weak- 
ness. 



m 



CHAPTER XXXIV. 

LONDON. 

R. DICKENS did not know how to write 
" American Notes," but he knew how to write 
and read EngHsh stories. I never was more agree- 
ably disappointed in my hfe. With a prejudice 
against him, which nothing but an absolute self-de- 
nunciation on his part could ever have overcome, I 
went to St. James's Hall to hear a vain man read 
badly what he had written well, but he read just 
as he writes. The characters were not his own, but 
himself! A dear friend, writing from America, said : 
" Dickens's tones are monotonous." So are all the 
English at home. After listening to them several 
months, one becomes accustomed to it ; and though 
I prefer the American sprightliness, it is only justice 
to declare that Mr. Dickens read the familiar prose 
reading as an Englishman as well as our Mr. Mur- 
dock reads as an American. The Trial from Pick- 
wick concluded the readings: and if any one can 
visit an English court of law, and then hear Dickens 
read that trial without laughing till his sides ache, he 
must be composed of tough materials. I do not wish 

to be misunderstood in my comparison. Mr. Dickens 

302 



LONDON. 303 

never could read Hamlet. Hamlet is sublime ; it is 
too high for him. Dickens is pathetic, not sublime. 
Murdock r^dids Hamlet as Shakspeare wrote it, with 
a clear conception of the highest flights of which a 
poetic nature is capable. Mr. Dickens never could 
read "The Merry Wives of Windsor." There is a 
keen wit so subtle that few can follow it to its 
sharpest edge. Dickens is humorous, not witty. 
Mr. Hackett could read Falstaff. I have heard all 
these, and each was a special treat that one would 
never think of comparing. But, on the other hand, 
Mr. Murdock reads the trial from Pickwick as 
Americans read it, not as an English subject under- 
stands it and feels it. I saw a man tried at West- 
minster for selling quack medicines. The preten- 
tious dignity of the Court, from the judge on the 
wool-sack to the crier, the absurd appearance of the 
lawyers, with their blooming complexions set off by 
the white wigs and black gowns, big heads and little 
heads, fat faces and thin faces — all with the same 
sized wig, the variety of their expressions, like those 
in Gustave D ore's " Neophyte," from low cunning 
eagerness to fat imbecility, the absurd terror of the 
defendant on the stand, and the jeers and laughs of 
the amused spectators, would have made Queen 
Elizabeth laugh. Dickens can read the trial from 
Pickwick as well as he can write it, and no one could 
possibly portray English home scenes better. His 
pen describes what his eyes let into his brain, (some- 
times his eyes are a little crooked, especially in 



304 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

America,) but his mind only plots for the materials at 
hand — it conceives very little. 

London furnishes so much material for novelists, 
dramatists, and all social writers, that one feels a sort 
of indifference to any idea of originality where there 
is so much to contemplate and associate with the 
array of authors represented in the splendid libraries 
and vast galleries of the Great City. My kind host- 
ess remarked one day, " I do believe you Americans 
are more familiar with the English authors than we 
Londoners take pains to be ! " 

Taking up a copy of the Continental Gazette , that I 
had just received from Paris, I said, "Would you like 
to read a description of London by one who never 
left America in his life?" 

"Indeed I should," she replied; "it will be a curi- 
osity." 

I gave it her, and she read the following : 

" LONDON IS A WONDROUS POEM. 

Bulwer's Whai Will He Do With It. 

" It is pleasant to get well, after having for a week 
had a giant Fever storming over you, and turning all 
your dreams and visions into wild Walpurgis Nights. 
We were seized by the Fiend just after reading a 
letter from, London, in a morning paper, in which the 
author describes his rambles over the queer old 
churches in that city, where the dust of genius re- 
poses. He spoke of St. Sepulchre's, where Gower 
and Beaumont and others are interred, and it is sin- 



{ 



I 



LONDON. 305 

gular that he did not seem to know that the mortal 
part of Captain John Smith, of Virginia, rests there 
after his devious world-wide wanderings. The author 
also spoke of London publishers famous in literature, 
and showed how their insignificant 'shops' could 
not compare with our publishing houses — John 
Murray, for instance, having his name on a little sign 
on a door, in a street not wider than Carter Street, 
through which we pass every day to get our mail. 
When the Fever Storm-King seized our bones and 
brains, this letter, tortured into the wildest extrava- 
gance, flitted up and down our consciousness, and 
added to itself other recollections of London, so that 
it seemed we were under some uncouth enchantment. 
Now wandering along Oxford street with De Quin- 
cey, looking along that Mediterranean of humanity 
for his poor, forlorn, yet noble - hearted Ann, whom 
we fancied must be waiting for us at the bottom of 
Titchfield Street. Hearing, too, by dreamy lamp- 
light, those airs on barrel-organs to which they once 
listened, and sighing with the youthful * Grecian,* 
' O Oxford Street, stony-hearted stepmother — thou 
that listenest to the sighs of orphans and drinkest the 
tears of children ! ' Again, a ludicrous picture of 
Tittlebat Titmouse, airing himself at a fire-plug on an 
Oxford Street corner, would break the charm ; but we 
remembered De Quincey and his Ann again, as we 
turned toward Piccadilly with them to meet the 
Bristol mail, and then parted with them at Golden 
Square. Here the fantastic troupe of characters in 



306 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

Nicholas Nickleby loomed in sight. Ralph, in his 
gruff top-boots ; Newman Noggs rushing in at one 
door of the tavern at Golden Square and James 
Street and out at the other; Nicholas in Sir Mul- 
berry Hawk's cabriolet, beating that scoundrel tre- 
mendously, as the horse dashed down the thorough- 
fare 'between Park Lane and Bond Street,' as very 
satisfactorily recorded; Mrs. Nickleby, attended to 
the omnibus by those fascinating gentlemen, Pyke 
and Pluck ; Tim Linkinwater ; Miss La Creevy ; 
Squeers, with his squint ; Smike, and all the rest of 
them. But again the scene changed, and we were in 
the Park, with the drive full of carriages, and the 
walks full of characters in novels — Thackeray's peo- 
ple, Bulwer's men, Disraeli's airy creations, Mrs. Gore's 
dukes and marquises, characters in Warren's Te7t Thou- 
sand a Year; while a myriad of faces lined the rail- 
ing surrounding it. We saw Frere (in Lewis Arundel) 
talking to that elegant dandy Charley Leicester, 
gesticulating with his coarse cotton umbrella, while 
Tom Bracy was imposing some fresh practical joke 
on the mighty De Grandeville. Looking in at Lord 
Elgin's windows we saw some world-famous sculp- 
ture, and this sent us off to those huge statues of 
Gog and Magog, at Guildhall. Through this fever- 
light we also saw the glories of May Fair and the 
shops of Cheapside. Like Edgar A. Poe, we seemed 
to see the terrible face of 'the man in a crowd,' and 
we followed him as he wildly passed from street to 
street to keep within the blaze of gas-light and in 



LONDON. 307 

close contact with humanity. We smiled, too, as the 
old-clothesmen chaffered us, like the * barkers' on 
Market Street, in 

* St. Mary Axe, with Jews so weary, 
That for old clothes they'd even ax St. Mary.' 

"At another time we were on Highgate Hill shak- 
ing the hand of Keats, and feeling, with Coleridge, as 
he met him there with his friend Hunt, that ' there 
was death in that hand.' How sulphurous looked 
London from here, with the great dome of St. Paul's 
towering above the mass of 'smoke and bricks and 
shipping.' Now, Shooter's Hill seemed our stand- 
point, and we drove over Westminster Bridge with 
Byron, up to Charing Cross and along St. James 
Street. Again, we stood on Old London Bridge, 
crossing from King William Street to Southwark. 
There lapsed the old, old tide, 'with foamy lips,' just 
as it did in the thirteenth century, when Wat Tyler's 
rebellion raged, and when the unseen spirit of the 
plague hung over the doomed city; how many thou- 
sand rogues had fled across that bridge to 'Sanc- 
tuary,' in Southwark! And there was the 'dark 
arch ' which Hood has made more gloomy than that 
famous Venetian bridge; there was 'the black flow- 
ing river,' and all around 

* . . . . the lamps quiver 

So far in the river, 

With many a light 

From window to basement.' 

O unknown suicide! the poet saw you through a 



308 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

mist of tears; not friendless, brotherless, sisterless, 
motherless now; not houseless and shivering in the 
'bleak wind of March.' Perhaps, as he has told us, 
'her sins are forgiven, for she loved much,' and, 
many mansions have been offered her by a Saviour's 
love. Not a stain rests upon her sweet memory, for 
it has a home in every heart where our English 
tongue is spoken ; a hundred thousand hearts have 
stirred at her story, and like precious dew of morn- 
ing the tears have stood on human eyelids as the 
sad delicious music of her monody has melted in 
among our purest, stainless memories. Forever un- 
spotted from the world remains that history, to show 
the power of one human heart overflowing with sym- 
pathy as with genius. Not a reporter, from London 
to San Francisco, ever gazes upon the dripping form 
or the wet tresses of a woman suicide but he repeats 
this sad, sweet song. Hardly a 'Crowner's quest' is 
held but homage is there rendered to the genius and 
the heart of Hood. And when you hear Thackeray 
or Curtis read that poem, it receives an added 
power and pathos. 

" But such reveries were too quiet for a fever-dream, 
and anon Blackfriar's Bridge loomed in sight, peopled 
with memories of monks and nuns, and Cavaliers and 
Roundheads. The Tower, too, rose through the 
misty air along the muddy tide; barges floated on 
the stream ; prisoners entered by the traitor's gate — 
Raleigh, Russell, and Sidney; and a dun cloud over 
Tower Hill seemed to hang in mourning above their 



LONDON. 309 

place of execution. Like the alternate splendor and 
gloom of a stormy sunset, seems to glow and frown 
that mighty mass of Towers; it has been a royal 
home; it has been a martyr's prison; it has awed 
liberty, and it has been hallowed by remembrances 
of grace and beauty and poetry, bravery and true- 
heartedness, as well as blood, and England's shame. 
The spirits of Arabella Stuart, of Lady Jane Grey, 
of Anne Boleyn, haunt its echoing corridors. One 
cannot shut out the remembrance of that latest Plan- 
tagenet, the old Countess of Salisbury, as she refused 
to lay her head on the traitor's block, and the bloody 
executioner followed her around the scaffold, striking 
at her venerable head ! Sir Thomas More's pleasantry, 
as he was led to execution, seems as fresh to-day as 
ever. We yet smile at the obstinate young Elizabeth, 
wilfully seated on the Tower step, almost forcing her 
guards to carry her within. What an army of nobles 
laid down their lives here in the reign of Henry VIII., 
and the visitor of to-day sees in the Armory the very 
suit worn by this many-wived old tyrant. Splendor 
and blood reeked together here during the thirty-six 
years of his reign, and England truly became 
*merrie' when he died. But the Thames lapses on- 
ward; borne with its dark flood we feverishly float 
towards the turrets of Hampton Court, past the 
haunts of Pope and Gray and other poets more ; but 
drawn again towards the smoky town we see the 
Hall of Westminster, and remember how all the great 
State trials, from Sir William Wallace to Warren 



310 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

Hastings, filled the splendid Court-room. Some of 
those who stood there for their lives will be green in 
memory when William Rufus, who built it, shall be 
forgotten. Then a broken dream of that other West- 
minster, the Abbey, filled our mind; in the chill 
gloom of night we seemed to feel the presence of the 
Spirit of Life and of Fame, which makes that spot 
the central one towards which the Anglo-Saxon mind 
irresistibly leans. As the pole attracts the needle, 
so must Westminster Abbey draw the wandering 
visitor to London. But remembering our beloved 
friends, the poets and authors of London, the air 
seemed peopled by their spirits ; Chaucer and Spenser 
we love without a close acquaintance; Shakspeare is 
all about us, like the common air; Milton and 
Johnson, Beaumont and Fletcher, Ford and Mas- 
singer, and their friends we shade off in Shakspeare's 
light. Coming down later, we remember poor 
Goldsmith and his struggling life in London; bluff 
old Johnson, Steele, Addison, Fielding, Smollett. At 
a distance we keep Messieurs Pope and Gay; and we 
dream away the ages till the time of Coleridge, 
Shelley and Byron, Keats, Haydon and Lamb. 
Christ's Hospital appears looming through the night. 
We think over Hunt's delicious reminiscences, and 
the pleasant voice of Elia chants this well-remem- 
bered strain : 

" ' Samuel Taylor Coleridge, logician, metaphysi- 
cian, bard; — how often have I seen the casual passer 
through the cloister stand still, entranced with admi- 



LONDON. 311 

ration to hear thee unfold in thy deep and sweet in- 
tonations the mysteries of lambh'cus or Plotinus, or 
reciting Homer in his Greek, or Pindar, while the 
walls of the old Grey Friars echoed to the accents of 
the inspired charity boy.' 

"Then, too, who could forget the story so well told 
by that genial scholar. Professor Reed, (to whom we 
used to listen at the University with a respect which 
is now a pride to us,) of the day-dreams of the boy 
Coleridge ; how he passed along the crowded Strand 
with his childish arms extended, so that his hand 
touched one of the throng; how he was accused of 
trying to pick a pocket; and how 'the little dreamer 
sobbed out his innocence; and to the astonishment 
of the by-standers, explained how he thought him- 
self Leander swimming across the Hellespont' 
And among a multitude of other dream images, we 
feverishly wished ourselves among that immortal 
party at Haydon's room, so capitally described by 
himself, where Lamb grew jolly over Wordsworth's 
friend the ganger, and Keats, and Hazlitt, and Hunt, 
with the rest, tried to stop Lamb's queer jokes about 
the man's * organs.' 

"Following the fair young Keats, we went to 
' Drury Lane ' with him, and saw the first night of 
Shiel's * Evadne ; ' Lamb too, was there, hissing his 
own farce of \ Mr. H. ; ' and Byron and Sheridan 
were in a stage-box listening to Kean and Mrs. Sid- 
dons. Again, by a shift of scenery, the * Rejected 
Addresses' came before us, and we heard the imita- 
tion of Coleridge: 



312 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 



' I heard a trowel tchick 
Against a brick.' 

"And again the sonorous imitation of Scott rolled 



out: 



* Blushes each spout in Martlett Court, 
And Barbican moth-eaten fort.' 



" Then Liston was there, and ' laughing at Liston 
as they quiz his phiz/ were Hood and Hunt, Fuseli, 
Haydon, Clare, and Horace Smith. There, too, the 
' quaint witch Memory ' chanted a bit of Shelley's 
* Letter to Maria Gisborne : ' 

* You are now 

In London, that great sea, whose ebb and flow 
At once is deaf and loud, and on the shore 
Vomits its wrecks and still howls on for more ; 
Yet in its depth what treasures ! ' 



"A host of ideal lady friends of ours belong to 
London, from the starched and ruffed age of Queen | 
Elizabeth, when Saccharissas abounded, and such as 
Waller sang their beauties, to the time of Queen 
Anne, when Addison derided farthingales, hoops, and 
scandal, and Steele fell desperately in love, and Dr. 
Johnson took tea with Mrs. Thrale. From thence | 
down to the days of Victoria hundreds of ladies fair 
could be recounted whom the world worships. We 
bow silently before each, until reaching Elizabeth and 
Caroline Fry, we kneel before the former, and re- 
member the angel in Newgate ; in the galaxy are the 
Countess of Blessington and Lady Morgan, gay and 



LONDON. 313 

gracious ladies both. Then there are L. E. L., Caro- 
Hne Bowles, Mrs. Hemans, and last of all Elizabeth 
^arrett Browning. In the dream her habitation could 
not be fixed, but now we find that her graceful address 
to the American public, in the dedication of the first 
New York edition of her poems ( 1 844), is dated from 
No. 30, Wimpole Street, London. There it is pre- 
sumed her most splendid sonnets, far greater than 
any ever rhymed by a woman, were felt and written ; 
there Lady Geraldine was created, and the * Vision of 
Poets ' was seen ; there is the birthplace of the noblest 
of her poetry, written ere she honored Italy by her 
presence. We could almost hear her cry — 

' I dwell amid the city, 
Amid its crowded streets, 



I do not hear each separate tone that rolls. 
Of art, or speech, of merry -make, or folly ; 

I hear the confluence and sum of each, 
And that is melancholy. 

Thy voice is a complaint, O crowded city. 

The blue sky covering thee like God's great pity.* 

"And then there was a blank; the fever died down; 
we fell back into sleep. Awakening, we saw that it 
was an April morning, and that we had been no 
nearer London than several delirious attempts to get 
out of bed and out of the room would have carried us. 
Thus ended the vision ; the door was shut, and like 
the ' glorious dreamer,' Bunyan, * we saw no more.' " 

14 



314 A woman's experiences in EUROPE. 

Laying down the paper, my hostess said, "One 
who never saw London could never have written 

that paper." 

"Ah, madame," I answered, "that vision of London 
was born of the longing that could not be gratified; 
the same hand that penned it, drew the chart that I 
have followed alone, to fulfil a promise. But if my 
husband could have lived to walk these streets, or 
other cities of Europe, I doubt if his impressions 
would have been more vivid and real than those his 
natural love of the Old World, and his preparatory 
studies of it afforded him." I 

" Now," said my hostess, " I understand why you de- 
fend American journalism with so much enthusiasm. 
And I will tell you, an Englishman said a few days 
since, that you had completely vanquished him in 
one argument by producing the description of the 
Paris Exposition by George Alfred Townsend in the 
New York Tribune y 

" Yes," I said, " and the writer of the paper you 
have just read, remarked justly that Mr. Townsend's 
correspondence, and all similar journalism in America, 
could be matched with any authorship in the world!" 
The next day a note of invitation from the office 
of the London Times was given me, politely accord- 
ing the privilege of inspecting the buildings without 
the usual restriction as to hours. For this courtesy 
I was obliged to return only my thanks and a regret 
that I must leave London that very evening. 



ADIEU. 

E have been favored on our journey, dear 
Reader, with the cheerful companionship of 
what the world calls " good spirits." Thanks to 
those invisible friends, then, for the accomplishment 
of a great purpose: immediate restoration to health, 
the ability to encourage despondent hearts with our 
own recovered strength of purpose, and the resolve, 
that while life lasts we will fill up the measure of 
our existence as completely as a Divine providence 
affords opportunities. But here, you and I must 
part. We may not follow to its destruction the 
wreck of that ship of state across the channel pre- 
dicted so earnestly by Mr. Delavan in a previous 
chapter. And should you sail again with me on the 
Atlantic, a stormy voyage, a hopeless one, would re- 
move all the cheerful impressions derived from our 
last few months' travels together. So, with the im- 
movable determination to make our lives as brave and 
merry, and honest and free as possible, let our part- 
ing word be Hilariter! 



THE END. 

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